Spirits
by chezchuckles
Summary: A Castle Christmas story, advent style. This is set in the Juice Cups and Coffee Mugs universe, where last we left them, Kate was about to give birth. This story takes place eleven months later, on December first of that year.
1. December 1

**Spirits**

* * *

 **A/N** :  
For those of you who are still here  
because you, like me, can't quite let go of their love story.

This is set in the Juice Cups and Coffee Mugs universe, where last we left them, Kate was about to give birth. This story takes place eleven months later, on December first of that year.

* * *

 _"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!"_

-Charles Dickens, 'A Christmas Carol'

* * *

 **x**

 **1 December 1**

 **x**

When consciousness finds her, her eyes are dried out, her lids stick to her eyeballs. It means she's seeing without seeing for a heartbeat, a white wash of hospital lights before finally his smile comes into view.

"You're smiling," she croaks.

"Hey, there," he says, stull with a smile. Offering a cup, a straw that he puts to her lips. She sucks and feels cold water hit the back of her throat, and she coughs.

She tenses, but there's barely a ripple. The slashing pain has gone, which was the point of the surgery to begin with, but she didn't expect the relief to be so great.

"Anethesia," he reminds her. He's already withdrawn the cup, his thumb swipes the water at the corner of her mouth.

She can feel the draggy edges of unconsciousness at the corners of her vision.

"I am smiling," he says, too enigmatic for her right now.

"What's the verdict? C-section?"

He huffs, still smiling though, leaned in over her on the bed. "She's optimistic. She said the surgery went well."

"But a c-section?"

"Kate," he chides. "You know it's wait and see. So long as you follow the post-op care plan and you _don't_ trying picking him up, the muscles should graft-"

"Flaps," she mumbles, correcting him. She feels sick. The anesthesia. The water on her stomach. "Muscle flaps."

"Right, that," he whispers. "At least you're not in pain any longer, Kate. That's the most important thing. No more pain."

Is it though? Life is pain. And heavy. "I don't wanna fall back to sleep," she tries insisting.

He's stroking her forehead. No answer.

She opens her eyes. "Where's Car?"

"In the waiting room with Mother and Alexis and your dad."

"I feel bad," she admits, rolling her head on her neck to look away from him.

"I know you do."

"But next time," she tries again. "Next pregnancy, no c-section?"

"Kate, let's not worry about that right now. I just want you to be able to pick up Carter, hold him. I just want you to heal."

"But it's all my fault-"

"You were shot twice," he grumbles. He might be angry at her; she feels bad. Everything is sore, her chest, her stomach. Even her thighs. She must be on pain medication as well as the anesthesia because a heavy hand holds down the true agony. "Kate, you were shot, and instead of healing, you were in labor for twenty-two hours and tore pretty much every muscle and ounce of scar tissue around the gunshot wound."

"I'm okay," she parrots automatically. Parroting who? Who said it first, that she has to repeat it now all the time? _I'm okay; it's fine; I can handle this._

"You're going to be," he says fiercely. Her eyes pry open, unzipping one lash to the next. His face is so weathered now, lines upon lines.

"I shouldn't have been picking him up," she admits. "Racing after him."

"Probably not every time," he hedges. Smiling again. "But she did say from the beginning you'd need surgery. She just happened to be right eleven months later."

Kate swallows past the dryness in her throat. Her eyes are burning. "It would've worked if I had - could've just nursed him longer. I-"

"No, we talked about this already. It's not true."

"But everyone says you get your stomach back when you nurse. I should've stuck to the schedule, expressed milk instead of running back to work-"

"Kate," he laughs. He's laughing at her? "Anesthesia has made you ridiculous. Nursing only helps you lose weight, which you don't _have_ to lose in the first place. It has nothing to do with torn muscles, and you know it."

Oh, God, she's crying. She can't control it. She can't control anything. She's spinning dizzy on the earth, about to be flung off.

"Hey, it's okay," he says, crowding in close. He kisses her eyelid, and she feels his smile there. "It's just the anesthesia. You know it makes everything seem bleak. Just like after we were shot, remember? When you thought the worst no matter what they told you? That wasn't real and neither is this."

"I want my baby," she cries.

"Okay. Of course. I'll carry him in. He's entertaining the folks in the waiting room."

"I'm sorry," she gasps, trying to get a hold of herself. "This is - stupid."

"It's normal." His fingers stroke the hair back from her face; his lips are a feather. "Normal, Kate. They just threaded your muscles back together. It's kind of a big deal."

"I'm so tired."

"Sleep."

"Carter."

"I'll bring him. Sleep, Kate."

With his palm warm against her cheek, she really can't stop it.

She falls asleep.

 **x**

Rick steps out of his wife's post-op recovery room and into the hall, closing the door behind him carefully. He has a hand in his back pocket to reach for his phone, but it's not necessary as he spots them coming down the long grey hall.

His not-quite eleven-month old son has the high-stepping gait of a baby who has only recently learned to walk - or rather, _run_ \- and is quite pleased with the whole production. Castle pushes his phone back into his pocket to watch from a distance, Alexis hurrying to keep up with the little imp.

Carter runs forward with those halting steps and then stops abruptly, peering down at the linoleum. (Let it not be another roach. Castle could have thrown up when Car stuck that bug in his mouth; Kate had to fish it out with her finger while Castle gagged.) Carter tilts his head and waves both arms, and Castle sees he's carrying his fox by the tail, poor thing bouncing and being flung around by all the excitement.

Alexis snags the fox before it can go flying, tucking it under her arm as she tries to hold out an appealing hand to the baby. Carter ignores her in favor of lifting a foot and setting it down again, back and forth with each foot, investigating the sensations on his bare soles. True to his nature, and his name, the baby has a matchbox car in his other fist, a much tighter grip on it than he did the poor stuffed fox.

Castle smiles and props a shoulder against the wall outside Kate's room, clears his throat to call his son. "Car-ter." Those big brown eyes lift, and his wide mouth lets out a cackle. Castle laughs back. "Come here, Car. Mommy wants to see you."

The baby rocks on his toes - he's pulled off his socks and shoes again, it seems - and pops up and down as if he's about to jump. He squats, babbles to himself, but merely bobs his torso.

"Crazy kid," he says. "Come on." He resists the urge to pat his thighs like when he calls for Chaplin, their dog, and instead straightens up, holds out his arms. "Zoom, zoom, Car."

Carter shrieks and throws up both hands, lifts a knee and then jolts forward. He's not really walking so much as running everywhere these days, and the hospital corridor is no exception. Castle stoops to meet that oncoming rush, and then he swings the baby up high and into his arms.

He cups the back of Carter's head, because he's learned from experience that the kid likes to immediately arch his back and throw himself out of his arms, and he nuzzles Carter's neck until he squeals.

Alexis approaches at a far more sedate pace. "How is she?"

"Groggy," he smiles, clutching his squirming kid. "How was the little monster?"

"Perfect zombie," she grins back. Alexis leans in and smacks a kiss on Car's cheek. "Weren't you? He's been awake all day, like you said. He's so tired he's been racing around here like a crazy person."

"He has Mommy's insomnia," Castle coos. He _hears_ himself, the babytalk, but he really can't stop it. He's stopped trying to stop it. It's pointless. He's hopelessly in love with their high-engine racecar monster. "Or he just likes the attention. Did he take the bottle-"

"That kid does not pass up feeding time," Alexis snorts, rolling her eyes. "Callie even managed to get him to lie down with her, but he has a terrible aversion to naps. _I_ need a nap after this one."

"Don't we all," Castle chuckles. "But thank you. You're a big help, pumpkin." He opens an arm to her and gives her a tight side hug, but she wriggles out of his embrace.

"I want to see Kate. Is she awake?"

Castle huffs. "Well, I know when I'm not wanted."

"Carter's been asking for her too," Alexis defends, pushing on his shoulder. Gently, even though his wound has long been healed. Old habits die hard. "Besides, Dad, she's my family too."

Castle grins ridiculously and he knows it. He turns and captures his son's waving fist before he can get knocked in the eye and then he kisses that sticky hand. "Let's go in and see Mommy. What do you say, Car?"

"Mama!"

"Yeah, she'll be so happy to see you."

 **x**

Kate drags her fingers down her sleeping baby's back, petting him like she would the dog. Poor Chaplin. She can't remember what they've done with him; details of her past few days are fuzzy.

Castle sighs and leans in against the hospital bed, moving slowly to keep from jostling her. She appreciates just how attentive he's being, how much he has to bend over backwards for her right now.

Rick traps her fingers and brings them to his lips, kissing the tips softly. "You have the magic touch. He wouldn't sleep for the girls."

Her eyelids are so heavy that it's hard to keep her eyes on him. "He's just that far past exhausted, that's all." She withdraws her fingers from his and drops her hand back to the baby. He's sweaty-warm with sleep and the weight of him resting at her hip somehow makes her feel better. "This might have been a really stupid idea."

Castle chuckles. "Your dad said you'd say that."

She wrinkles her nose.

"It needed to be done. Once the anesthesia is out of your system, you'll be feeling better." He rests his own hand at the inside of her arm, stroking the faintly purple skin around the IV at the crook of her elbow.

"But the holidays," she sighs. "Our track record sucks." She isn't going to cry. She promised herself before surgery that she wouldn't let the drugs run her down, tug at her emotions. "Last year pregnant and so swollen and pissy and I was mean to Callie and your mother-"

"They both deserved it. Callie had broken up with our oldest."

She breathes out, her best substitution for a laugh right now. But that felt good, his indignation, his defense of her in there somewhere too. "She's back now," Kate sighs. "Oh, and the year before that we were _shot_. Had been shot. That's when Callie first met us. I can't believe she didn't stay away for good. She didn't mind Carter running around?"

"Literally running? No, Alexis said she actually likes him."

"Tell me this wasn't a terrible idea, surgery four weeks before Christmas."

"It's the only time you had available, Kate." He leans in over her and kisses her forehead. "And think about this, now we have five weeks off, just our family, together for Carter's first Christmas. No work calls, no pressure, just us."

She lets out her breath and lifts her eyelids to meet his gaze. He's smiling, gentle, but she sees behind the consolation the idea that he's desperate to have her alone with him, the three of them, _safe_.

She bites her lip, drags her hand up his arm until she can brush the backs of her fingers against his clean-shaven cheek. "I feel like I'm letting you guys down, ruining Christmas."

"No," he says softly, trapping her hand. "We're gonna be okay. This was worth it. And Christmas is most definitely still on."

 **x**


	2. December 2

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

2 December 2

 **x**

Three in the morning finds him on his phone sorting through emails he's let amass. Being amiss amasses. Huh. He's a little punch drunk with sleeplessness.

But the baby is. Carter has succumbed to sleep once more, though still unhappy not having Mommy all night, and Rick can't say he blames him. Fussy at being fed from the bottle again, wanting to play, wanting to run, Carter wasn't soothed by a late night story, nor the shine of lights through the arched window, nor pacing the narrow track of their apartment. The thing that finally sent him over the edge into sleep? Going up and down the stairs to Kate's little garden access, the shallow steps where she used to like to sit and read a book in the bands of sunlight.

Now that Carter is down, Castle is too weary to accomplish anything, but too energized to go to bed.

He glances to the baby corral set up in the office - what used to be their shared office and what has now become something of a playroom. The apartment is too small for three of them when one of those three is rambunctious and clever. They've taken to using a puppy fence to keep Car in the open office and protect Chaplin from the baby's ungentle hands, though they often stand nose to nose on either side, staring longingly at each other.

Chaplin gives a snort in his sleep, one paw scratches across the rug, but he doesn't rouse. Neither does Carter, though maybe Rick secretly wishes the boy would, that they might have the night together, that Carter would stay up with him. Like Kate would if she were home.

Once again, Castle reminds himself that sleeping at her hospital bedside really isn't feasible.

It's not.

Even if Alexis and Callie took Carter again for the whole night - poor Callie - it wouldn't be smart, or good for his back, or really-

No.

He's here for the night. With his sleeping son and the dog, in an apartment that has never seen violence.

Castle lets out a clean breath and continues scrolling through his email. He sends a quick reply to one of Jim's _how is she_ messages, sends some junk to the trash, notes a couple more emails about the loft, and he marks others as high importance for less bleary eyes tomorrow.

She'll probably be discharged in the morning. He has everything set up; everything in easy reach for her. He's learned through the aftermath of their shooting, and he knows what frustrates her, how hard she'll push, the kinds of subterfuges she pulls to get her way even if it's self-sabotaging. She's where Carter gets it, that's for sure.

He's ready to have his wife back. Ready to not feel displaced in his own home. Because it's her home first, and primarily, and it feels empty even with a dog and a baby. This place really is so much _her_ , not that it doesn't belong to him or that he hasn't made it his own, but she has such presence here.

And okay, yes. He's afraid to go to bed alone. He's afraid of what his dreams will bring, he dreads the resurgence of his nightmare, a presence all its own.

Speaking of presences, he has another email from the agent claiming the renters are asking to opt out of their lease. Third set in the last two years. The first, an older couple, never explained why they had to leave, simply paid extra to get out of the lease. The second and now, it seems, third group to inhabit the loft are saying it's haunted.

He finds that amusing, wishes Kate were here to share that with. She would roll her eyes. But as he skims the email, he realizes this last family thinks it's _them_ who are haunting the place. That the previous occupants' _spirits are restless._

"We're not dead," he snorts. Chaplin lifts his head from the floor. "Sorry, Charlie, shhh, didn't mean to wake you." He forwards the email on to Jim Beckett, who does most of their legal consulting these days. Another default on the rental agreement will mean going back through the loft and checking every square inch for damage or claims, and the inventory list will have to match, and really he's the only one who can do that.

He wishes Kate had her punching bag still here. He could use a few rounds to work out the tension that builds in his neck and shoulders as he thinks about having to deal with the loft again. But they moved out the boxing gear for baby gear, and there just isn't room. Where would he put it? It's become so necessary though, like a release valve. He needs the outlet; it makes him feel stronger, vital again, and it's been at least three weeks since he's been able to get to the trainer and into the ring.

Another item to add to his to do list. Piling up by the second.

Castle has another email from the listing agent, who has forwarded him the email from the current tenants. Apparently the two older teens heard somewhere about the shooting. Probably the neighbors. They told the parents. But they've confabulated the story, mixed in pieces of the real thing with some admittedly strange coincidences that have the teenagers convinced that the ghosts of the former occupants are haunting the kitchen.

They told the listing agent there's a growing stain on the floor.

"But we're _not_ dead," he mutters, closing his laptop, trying not to see that image.

His eyes fall on the baby, and his chest eases. Carter is curled up now on his stomach, knees drawn up so that his bottom is in the air, that peculiar way he has of sleeping. Mouth parted, lashes on soft cheeks, his blanket with its elephants is draped over his back. The stuffed fox has been flung away once more, but he has a blue car clutched in his fist and drawn in tight to his body, even in sleep. Carter loves that car, carries it around with him all through the apartment, drives it over Chaplin, sleeps with it, but not for a second will Carter let it out of his hand.

Kate says he's afraid to lose it. So he clutches it so tightly.

Castle is pretty sure the baby can't think with that kind of complexity, but he understands the need to ascribe their own feelings to the boy. Giving voice to it makes it easier to wrestle back down into place.

They're afraid to lose this. All of it. They barely leave the apartment; Kate goes to the Twelfth and comes straight home - and not the subway, but the car. He can't remember the last time they even caught a cab. If Castle walks down to the farmers' market, he breaks out in a cold sweat. Kate calls him to hear his voice when she has to show up at some high profile case. He finds himself always saying, _I just needed to see your face._ They curl onto the couch together, the two of them, and watch Chaplin herd Carter around the apartment.

He used to pretend it was all because of her pain. After delivery, those torn muscles and scar tissue caused her so much searing pain. And of course, pain keeps memory alive. But twenty-four hours after surgery to fix that problem, he can't bear to fall asleep alone. Without her.

His mother, Alexis, and Jim have all made comments, little nudges, tried to get them back out into the city, into the world. And it seems incongruous, since they were shot in their own home, to be so wary of the world, but her apartment hasn't seen any of that violence; it's off the radar, hidden. Untainted.

He's afraid to lose it.

But the loft will be empty _again_ and apparently they're haunting the place.

Well, it's haunting them, that's for sure.

They even made a _will_.

Rick lets out an explosive breath that has Chaplin's head coming up. He leans forward to soothe the dog, placing his laptop out of reach on the coffee table, using both hands to pet Chaplin. He rubs down the dog's back, scratches his ears, smooths the fur at his throat. The rhythm of it begins to work on himself too, and Castle sinks down to the floor, putting his back to the chair.

Chaplin tries crawling into his lap.

"Too big for that," he chides softly. But it's nice having the big dog sprawled over his thighs, that nose nudging into his elbow as if to hide his face in Castle. He strokes repeatedly at Charlie's back, down his flanks, grooms the knots from the dog's tail. He likes the way Chaplin's eyes slit closed when Castle rubs back from his face, as if he's especially blissed.

After Carter was born they signed a will. In case they do lose, in case this has been a temporary reprieve.

They decided Carter goes to Alexis, on the condition that Martha and Jim are involved in the boy's life. He knows he can't give custody to his mother, not even partial; she'd never be able to handle that. But he can't, for fairness' sake, name Jim to the exclusion of his own mother. Alexis sounds like a compromise but it's his best choice. She shares his name, she has access to all the accounts, and she's young enough to keep up with Carter.

They have all their bases covered. And yet they're still hiding out in this cramped apartment, afraid to sleep, afraid to separate, afraid to step out. It's no way to live, it's half-living.

Zombies, just like they call Carter, the baby formerly known as unborn. Shambling through their life. It needs to stop; it has to stop.

Because, really, the only ghosts are in his own head.

 **x**


	3. December 3

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **3 December 3**

 **x**

Kate moves gingerly.

Yup. End of sentence there. She moves gingerly. She can't do any better than a slow crawl, and even when she wants to be better, she just can't.

She breathes out and eases back against the office couch, flinching at the shift in position. Castle is rustling somewhere in the kitchen but the office has her sequestered with the baby, corralled by the fences and desk furniture.

It's a little crowded in here; she has to admit.

"How's it going?" Castle calls out. "You making it?"

"No," she bites out, slumping back against the leather. "This was a huge mista-"

"Wasn't a mistake," he says, before she can even finish. He comes around the corner with a spatula in hand, pointing it at her. "Had to be done."

"I'm such an idiot," she moans. She can't even lift her _arms._ Everything aches. The baby is entirely out of her reach. "This was the stupidest-"

He's suddenly looming over her. When did he get so fast going over the baby gates?

Castle pokes her with the spatula and she huffs, trying not to laugh. Laughing hurts so badly. It all hurts so badly.

"Cross your arms over your chest," he says. "I'll help you up."

"Where'd Carter go?"

"He's just behind the desk."

"Don't let him eat the damn cord-"

"He's not. Just some dust bunnies."

"That's not funny," she mutters, glaring up at him.

"It is a little. Cross your arms, Beckett, or I'll poke you again."

She growls but obeys, her palms curling at the tops of her shoulders as she leans forward. Castle stuffs the spatula into his back pocket and bends his knees to squat in front of her.

She hates this part. But she leans into him, her forehead against his shoulder, giving him her weight. He slides his palms under her thighs and lifts, preventing her from using her abdominal muscles and helping her to stand.

Kate finds her feet after a moment's awkwardness, her heart pounding a little too hard. His breath is fast and warm against her hair, the top of her ear, and they stand there for a moment, both of them collecting themselves.

"You got it?" he says finally.

She nods.

"Oh, no," Castle grunts. "He really is eating a dust bunny. No, no, Carter. Stop that."

Kate is left swaying alone as Castle dives past her. She turns only her head and watches as Castle scoops up their son, swiping a finger in Carter's mouth. Carter squawks and throws himself backward, but Castle is wise to his tricks, keeping a firm hold and swiping fur out of his mouth. But he does give a glance her way to ascertain her condition.

She nods; she's stable. "We're about to have dinner, Car." She reaches out slowly and Castle steps in closer so that she isn't extending. She curls her fingers around the baby's chubby leg. "I promise Daddy will feed you."

He shrieks, causing Chaplin to come running from the kitchen in concern. Castle jiggles the baby with one hand, picks up the baby gate with the other. She passes through - slowly - and he puts it back while she fends off Chaplin.

The dog is trying to jump her, tail wagging, excited by the baby's shrieks of protest. Castle is hushing the kid and trying to knock Chaplin away at the same time. She's left helpless, unable to do a thing about it. If she reaches out, she pulls every muscle in her abs and the stitches at the incision site. She can't even _walk_ quickly to get out of the dog's range.

"Charlie, stop," Castle growls, kneeing the dog away again. " _Down_."

That does it. Chaplin drops to his belly, puts his head on his paws, those great big eyes staring mournfully up at them.

"Hey, look at that," Castle beams. "He obeyed me."

Kate curls her fingers in the back of Castle's shirt, needing his momentum to keep her going. "Look at you all commanding," she says (more of a gasp). Her sternum burns like a flaming arrow straight down to her belly button. "Told you he would if you sounded dominant." She sucks in a deeper breath and that _hurts_. "You gotta use that bedroom voice, Castle."

He chuckles appreciatively, already outstripping her. He's leaning over the high chair to seat the baby, who is not appreciative in any way, and Kate keeps moving forward, inch by painful inch. Carter is bucking the safety straps, batting at his father's hands, screeching in that way he has. Castle tries to talk to him, explaining that dinner is coming, that he needs to be good for Mommy, that no one wants to hear his screaming.

When Kate finally approaches, she drops her hand to the top of Carter's head, narrows her eyes at him. "Carter."

He squawks, shifting to look at her, and then drops heavily into the high chair, all the fight going out of him. "Mama." He bangs the tray with both hands and then beams up at her.

Castle sighs. "Great." He manages to finish buckling in the kid and then he shifts to attend her. "You said one word."

She lets him guide her down to the kitchen chair, giving him a half smile. "Use your firm voice, Rick."

"You mean my bedroom voice?" Castle stabilizes her as she sits, keeps her from tilting off balance. "Wasn't that what _got_ us this little hellion?" His eyebrows wriggle. "Panic attack sex."

She blows out a fast breath in lieu of laughing, and he leans over to kiss her cheek. She can't catch the side of his face and curve her fingers at his ear, she can't twist her torso into him, she can't even crane her neck and kiss him back.

She _barely_ delivered his kid. The physical therapists said it was a bad idea, so soon after being shot twice, that her body wasn't up for it, but she wouldn't listen.

And then after that, she tore muscles, she sprained tendons, she ripped things that shouldn't be ripped. Because she can't _stop_ herself, because she always has to do more, because it isn't good enough to just have a baby, she has to also be some kind of supermom.

She can't stop herself. She flings herself into self-sabotage, she hurls herself into the black hole. Her mother's murder, the entangling case, the hired killers, the _death_. Everyone dies, she told him long ago, and then she did it anyway. She never stops.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she groans. And that hurts, _emotions_ hurt.

"You had surgery. Give yourself a break." He moves for the kitchen, gathering dishes and uncovering pots. "Bread?"

"You made bread?"

"Yeah. Better this way. But it's garlicky, so." He brings back two overfilled bowls, the whole kitchen redolent with the scent of lamb stew.

She stares down at the bowl, biting her bottom lip.

"Hey, stop that," Castle said. "You'll make Carter yell at you, and we've had about enough of that."

She nods, swallows. But Rick does everything even though she promised him he wouldn't be doing parenthood alone again. He _has_ to do everything, and she's feeling more than just useless and post-surgery blue.

"I said _stop_."

Her head comes up at the edge in his voice, and she sees Chaplin stop begging at the table and go belly down again.

"Hey, look at that," Castle beams.

She smiles.

It's not so bad, is it? It can't possibly be as bad as it feels right now.

"Am I bad mom for being a cop?"

Castle's jaw drops.

From the highchair, Carter shrieks and slams both hands to the tray, rattling the whole kitchen with the sound.

"That's what we both think about that," Castle says, dropping back down into his stern voice again. "You're a badass captain, anyway. Not just some cop. Also, I forgot to give Carter his crackers. Hang on a sec, kiddo. Dinner is coming right up."

He jumps to his feet again, the steam curling from his stew, and she's left sitting helplessly at the table while Carter whines and arches his back.

This is miserable. And she brought it on herself.

 **x**


	4. December 4

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **4 December 4**

 **x**

Castle wakes with violence, already falling out of bed. He lands on his bad knee and curses, truly awake now, one elbow in the rug, his forehead to the floor.

Damn nightmares.

Chaplin comes wriggling on his belly under the bedframe to get to him, licking his arm and his face, woofing softly. Castle grunts and collapses to his shoulder under the dog's onslaught, lifts a shaking hand to pet Chaplin's back.

Rhythmic, slow.

"Castle?" A hiss of a breath. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry," he mutters, laying his head on his arm and rubbing the dog. "Go back to sleep. Just gonna clear my head."

"C-can't," she says tightly. And now he hears the held-back quality to her voice. "Won't be sleeping. Just - get back up here."

"Can't. I'll fall asleep again," he says, wincing. "And dream."

"How many nights in a row?"

He pushes up slowly, leans his back against the side table. Something rocks on top of it with his weight, and then he hears it topple. "Three."

"Since my surgery?"

"Time's it?" he counters. He grips the dog's harness and pulls Chaplin into his lap even though he doesn't really fit. He's grown in the last few years. When the dog stands at full height, his head rests easily on the mattress even though the bed is tall.

"I don't know," she whispers.

Oh. That means she's can't even turn her head to look. "Did I jostle you?" he rasps, struggling to his feet. His knee protests, doesn't quite bend the right way, and he staggers. He's going to fall. But he can't catch himself on the mattress, he absolutely can't, not after his nightmare already did her damage. "Uh-oh."

"Oh, no. Castle, you're gonna-"

He crashes into the side table and the picture frame goes sliding off, back behind, thumping as it hits the wall and then the floor. He's managed to get a grip on the table, but he has three fingers stuck in Chaplin's harness and his hip is bruised, and at least the baby doesn't sleep in here with them anymore.

"Oh, Rick," she sighs. "We're a mess."

"We're just fine," he says. Hobbles towards the bed. "Did I hurt you, waking up like that?"

"No."

He did. He doesn't push it, just eases onto the bed.

"Will you - will you pull Chaplin up here with us?"

He gives her a look but he can't tell if she's trying to patronize him or if she really wants the dog up here. "You said he jostles you in his sleep."

"You be in the middle. You can brace me."

He obeys immediately, turning to haul Chaplin up onto the bed while he gingerly scoots back, trying not to do her more damage. She tried to sleep on the couch tonight; he put a stop to that but after his waking like this, maybe he should've let her. Maybe she was just trying to protect herself.

"Over here," she murmurs. "Close to me."

"I am, I'm getting there. Hang on." He pats the mattress. "Lie down, Charlie. _Down_."

Chaplin lies down after only a slight hesitation, and then Castle does as well, on his back, willing to be whatever she needs.

Even if the nightmare comes back.

"Can you turn me into you?"

"Are you sure that won't tear something?" he murmurs.

"Just do it."

He props himself up on an elbow even as Chaplin settles down at his hip and back. He grunts and glances over his shoulder, turns back to Kate. "Charlie has my spot."

She presses her lips together until they're white and he can't tell if she's struggling not laugh or not give way to pain. Might be both.

"Okay, here, let's try this." He pushes his arm under her neck and upper shoulders, and then he scoops from the other direction under her hips. "Okay?"

"Okay," she whispers.

Not entirely okay then. But he continues, moving slowly, until he's half propped against Chaplin's back, and Kate half propped on him.

"You're on the dog," she whispers.

"Watch. He'll move in a second. He gets tired of me."

"Tired of you cuddling him?" she says softly. Yeah, that's a smile.

He huffs but he smiles into her temple and sure enough, the dog begins to wriggle out from under him. Half under him. He's barely on the dog at all. Chaplin belly crawls a little ways out and then settles again, and now Castle is almost entirely on his back.

And Kate is braced against him.

She lets out a long breath. Her cheek on his shoulder is heavy. Her arms are pressed in against her torso, like supports.

"Rick," she sighs.

"Yeah?"

"It's four."

"It's four?"

"In the morning. The time. You asked. Now I can answer."

Oh, Kate.

He cups the side of her head, gently, combs the hair back out of her face, unthreading it from her lashes. "Love you," he murmurs.

"I love you too. I love you and I should have stopped," she whispers.

"No."

She doesn't reply and he doesn't know how to respond.

He doesn't know how to give her back her purpose. She's always been... Beckett. He never expected motherhood to undermine so much of her self-confidence.

Motherhood, yes, but also pain and trauma and near-death.

He pets her hair back and smooths it down her neck and he racks his brain to come up with a way to somehow give it all back to her. (It will keep his mind busy, keep him from falling back to sleep, falling right back into that nightmare.) He was the one who opened up her mother's case again, stuck his nose where it didn't belong, gave her the hope that it could be solved and she could have closure.

He believed it could.

He had no idea, back then, what the cost would be.

How one thoughtless, selfish act could have such lasting consequences, ripples that go on and on without end.

 **x**

Kate is sacked out on the couch this afternoon, where she never intended to nap, he thinks, while Castle paces the floor with Carter, hoping to ease him in the same direction.

"Da-da-da-da-"

"That's right, I'm so proud of your words," he hums in response, keeping his lips against the baby's ear and a hand to the back of the baby's skull. "But Mommy is sleeping and you need to do the same."

"Da-da-da-"

"Shhh. Time to shift into neutral for a while, race car." He bounces his knees as he swings around the kitchen table, and Carter's head drags down to his shoulder.

Where it stays.

A mumble of his name, _da-da-da_ , grows ever slower, and then a mangled form of _zoom zoom,_ until the near power-walk through the cramped race track of their apartment yields utter and complete oblivion.

Castle grins against his son's warm skin and proceeds carefully to the baby's room. He opens the door with quiet movements, and then eases inside.

And suddenly, despite having a million things to do and phone calls to make and holiday plans to arrange not to mention scheduling Kate's doctor appointments, Rick doesn't want to put his son down.

He rocks the boy as he heads for the window, the grey walls reflecting the grey day outside, the soaked cityscape that makes the buildings look clean again and the streets imbued with color. Rick nestles a shoulder against the casing of the window and turns his eyes to his son, watching the way the reflection gives a ghostly light to the boy's pink skin. Cheeks fat from laying on Castle's shoulder, Carter still has a fist around a matchbox car, clinging for dear life even in sleep.

His lashes are long and dark, though limned with light, and his nose is that baby button, neither of theirs yet, though Kate says she can see him on their son's face. He loves noting Carter's color-changing eyes, brown or green depending on the outfit or the light outside, but he has to admit he loves those eyes closed a lot more, like they are now, still and silent in sleep.

He loves their high-octane kid, their baby who laughs when they do silly things, who has whole exchanges with them in his own language, this boy who scowls like Kate and talks like him and reaches for them when he gets his feelings hurt.

His birth took a lot out of Kate, ravaged her abdominal muscles which weren't healing all that well to begin with. Rick knows without a doubt she needed the surgery to remove scar tissue from the previous, life-saving surgeries she had, and he knows that she knows that too.

But it's hard to go from an admittedly poor level of functioning to absolutely no functioning at all. And worse, he knows, because she's alone in it this time, and seeing him pick up their son when he wants to be held, and him doing the work that she promised he would never have to do alone.

He's not doing it alone; she's here. She's off for four weeks to recover. All she needs is a little boost to her ego, a little Christmas spirit, and she'll remember why she's doing this.

All she needs is the magic of a baby's first Christmas.

 **x**


	5. December 5

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **5 December 5**

 **x**

Kate runs her fingers over the top of Carter's head, his soft downy hair, and tugs the corner of his blanket over his eyes. He chortles and ducks her touch, though probably not on purpose; he's still that baby-wobbly, happy little thing who can't quite control his body. He waves both arms, flinging off the blanket, and it slides to the floor.

"Uh-oh," she murmurs. "Mommy would get it but I'm stuck." She smiles at him and he grins back, lurches into her on the couch.

She hisses a breath, gritting her teeth, doesn't let it show on her face.

Carter rebounds off the couch and lifts a foot, teetering, before he pitches headlong into a run. She hasn't exactly seen him _walk_ , though they tell people he started walking at ten months.

She watches her son run straight for the push-car, the big plastic toy he loves to shove around the room. It's weighted with handlebars, and the wheels click faster and faster as he goes, so that the baby often starts squealing along.

"Ma-ma!"

She lifts her lips in a smile, the pain already settling into a dull ache again. "Hi, baby. What've you got?"

He makes noises with his mouth that could be anything, but instead of pushing the car along the floor, Carter drops down to his hands and knees and scoots across to the low shelves.

"Hey, Car, what're you doing? Get your car."

This time he ignores her, scooting right up to the shelving unit that holds all of his toys. Everything goes in there; the apartment is too small to have things littered in every room, and people like bringing him new toys, so there's always bins stuffed full. Castle has been fantastic and maybe a little obsessive about picking up after him.

Hm. Probably for her sake, now that she thinks about it.

"Muh!" Carter screeches, turning around with one of Castle's old phones.

"I see that. Your phone. Call Gram and talk to her."

Carter jerks his head back and stares down at the phone, as if his grandmother might literally be in the tightly clutched fist. He makes a croaking sound, mouth rounding into an o, and he shoots her a startled look, both eyebrows up.

"Just like Daddy, aren't you? That expressive face. Carter. Call Gram on the phone."

He lifts the phone to his face, almost like he's expecting a kiss, and then he mashes it against his cheek.

Playing phone used to mean holding a plastic receiver to your ear and trailing the base around by its winding cord. Now Carter mimics his parents and presses any flat rectangle he can find to his cheek, sometimes against his nose, making fish sounds, before patting the screen as if opening apps.

"Put it to your ear, baby," she smiles. She would laugh but that really does hurt. She can't even lift her hand to touch her own ear, give him direction, because she's not allowed yet. And it hurts. Has she mentioned that? "Hold it up so you can hear."

It's Castle's old phone but it's her own purple glitter phone case, and it does look really adorable mashed against his cheek.

"Car-ter," she sing-songs. "Come back over here. I'll help you."

If he understands her, he's ignoring her this morning. She doesn't mind; it's more to interact, play with him in the limited ways she has available. She's stiff and she can't move far and the couch in the office/play room has become her home, but she can call to her son and have him beam at her.

"Da-da-da-"

"Hey, who's calling me?" Castle walks around the corner from the direction of their bedroom, slipping his phone out of his pocket. He puts it to his ear and makes a show out of spotting Carter by the shelves. "Hey. Are you calling me? Carter, hey kiddo, did you call me?"

"No," she parries. "He called Gram."

"Muh-muh-muh," the baby babbles, as if in agreement.

"Hey now," Rick chuckles, shooting her a look that has her muscles unknotting just a little. "Already ganging up on me? No fair while you're incapacitated. I can't do a thing to retaliate." He leans over and scoops up Carter from the floor, cupping a hand under the toy phone to keep it from dropping.

"Other than pick up my baby when I can't," she mutters, but she smiles at him as he brings Carter to the couch. "Hey, baby, Daddy got you. Did you want to call Gram?"

"Muh." And babbling, and a spit bubble which makes him cackle and throw back his head, bending and contorting in Castle's arms. They used to think it meant he wanted down, but he never seemed to like that either. Now it just seems to be his way of being happy. Or possessed.

"Put him down here with me," she says, lifting her gaze to Rick. He shakes his head though and leans in over her, a kind of perfunctory kiss at the corner of her mouth.

It sends ripples down to her abs as she fights to stabilize herself. And she really hates that.

"Naw," he answers, "I have a surprise for you in the bedroom."

She raises an eyebrow in lieu of having words for rebuttal (her chest feels tight when her abdominals flex, like maybe she can't breathe, like maybe her lungs won't expand, caught under all this shredded scar tissue).

Castle sets the baby back down on his feet but Carter plops to his bottom and then scoots away again. Castle crouches before her, hands on her knees. "Come on. It's good. For you."

"Enough 'for me'," she sighs, weary with every hour being about what new pain she's in or what position he can shift her to or how much longer before another advil. "I'm tired of me."

"I'm not," he smiles. He comes to his knees and leans in, hands sliding under her thighs. "You're supposed to walk a little every day and you woke up here on the couch. So cross your arms and lean in."

She sighs because her breath finally _does_ come, her lungs do manage to inflate, but also because her husband has more patience than she ever thought him capable of.

"I was so wrong about you," she murmurs, slowly crossing her arms. She leans in, gingerly, all of her adverbs the same these days. "I thought I knew exactly what you were when we first met. What you see is what you get. But-"

He flexes, and she feels the strength of his grip at the backs of her thighs, her ass, tugging her upright as he rises. With her forehead pressed to his chin she can just see one of Carter's pajamaed feet, blue with the white treads, as he scoots towards the stacking ring scattered over the floor.

And then she's standing, trying to summon the courage to put her weight back where it belongs, on her own two feet.

"But what?" he says. His hands are warm as they release her thighs, straighten her out.

"You must have been so lonely," she sighs, curling her fingers in his shirt to hang on. He hasn't completely let her go; he won't. "Playing at - whatever that was. Playing at famous. That night I took you in for questioning. Were you lonely, Rick?"

He doesn't say anything for a long moment, and she knows she must be a little pain-drunk or perhaps drug-debilitated, because she doesn't do this to him usually. She isn't the one who asks, probes; she's the one who waits and lets him come to her when he's ready.

"I didn't know what I was," he answers softly. "And I didn't have any idea what you were." His fist presses into the small of her back, forcing her to stand up straight. "No, I knew what you were. You were the mystery, and I the mystery writer. Inevitable. Fated." He touches a kiss to the side of her face, his breath a warm wash that makes her eyes close. "You're very maudlin when the drugs are wearing off. They are wearing off, aren't they? It's nearly Car's bedtime."

"Think so," she sighs. This is why she's so distracted by the way her body feels. She can't quite focus on the words coming out of her mouth when the ache is so present.

"Then let me show you what I did. Come on."

She won't let him lead her; she walks for herself, a crabbed together shuffle that then gives way to creeping. He lifts the baby gate entirely out of her path, pushes Carter back with a foot. It makes the baby laugh so hard he topples to his diapered bottom and scoots away for another car.

Castle replaces the baby gate and comes up behind her, then goes ahead and pushes open the bedroom door.

It's dark with the curtains drawn, but he's lit candles on the bureau, out of Carter's reach, and through the open bathroom door she can see a host more.

And she can smell the bath scents, feel the humidity already filling the room from the steam.

A bath. She can barely sit rigidly on the couch. How does he think-

"You can do it. I bought one of those bath cushions, the back supports? It's like a grown-up version of Carter's bath seat. It fits perfectly. And it comes up high along your ribs - so you'll be stabilized. Plus you call out if you need help."

She chews on her bottom lip, hands in fists because she can't turn, can't twist her torso, can barely stand at all. But she really loves him.

He nudges her forward, through the open doorway, and as she stands before the rippling, heated bath (oh, she could melt just breathing it in), he begins unbuttoning her shirt.

(His shirt; all she's comfortable in are his plaids, his oldest Oxfords, his thinnest dress shirts. He's unbuttoning his shirt from her the way he did their first morning together, and his hand, which she remembers as being so wide and encompassing, comes up now as it did then and softly palms the side of her face.)

"Hey, hey, don't," he whispers.

"I'm not."

She's not.

He slides the shirt from her shoulders and down, working the rolled cuff from around her elbow where it gets stuck. He hangs the shirt up on the back of the door and she sees the candle flame dancing in the mirror.

When he kneels before her to peel down her leggings, she might be crying then. But she just really loves him.

"I was lonely," she chokes out, pressing her fingers to his cheek where he's right there before her. "Whatever else I was, no mystery really. I was just lonely. And now-"

"Shh," he hushes softly. "Save the introspection for therapy. Dr Burke will really think we're progressing nicely."

And she laughs, which she knows he did on purpose, coping for them both. Her laughter sticks in her throat with the ache of her abdominals, but that's okay too.

"I love you."

"I know."

He lowers her down to the water.

 **x**


	6. December 6

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **6 December 6**

 **x**

She wakes to darkness and the sound of the baby babbling over the monitor. Castle is poised above her, turning it down, and her disorientation is so severe she has to grip the blanket to hang on.

"Rick?"

"I carried you into bed last night. It's ridiculous that you're sleeping on the couch."

"It's - bracing," she gasps. Their mattress most definitely is not. "My abs-"

"You have an appointment with the surgeon this morning, remember? And he's going to tell you the same thing. You need to be sleeping on your back, not propped up on the couch. Even the chair is better than the couch."

"The chair is overflowing with clean laundry," she reminds him. "I couldn't get to it."

"No more couch," he warns, easing upright and throwing off the covers. When he stands the mattress only jiggles slightly. "Come on, I'm going to help you up and then nudge you into the shower."

"I can't wash the stitches-"

"Then don't, Kate. Simple. You took a bath just last night."

She scowls at him, but it's not really at him (she thinks it's not, but it might be, hard to know these days). He wriggles his eyebrows and skims his hands at her knees, drawing them very slowly up. At once the pressure eases, and she lets out a breath, some of that panicky edge fading.

She took a bath yesterday. The stitches are waterproof. She didn't scrub at anything, because the glue is supposed to slough naturally. It's really just fine, a shower is fine, and her abs will release with a couple of pain reliever and a little movement.

He leans in and loops an arm around her upper back, begins to ease her upright. Her progression forward is a slow tilt until she is finally sitting, and now Rick lowers her feet over the side of the bed.

Better. It's better. Her panic recedes, like writing in the sand being washed away.

"Did you sleep?" she says finally, breathing into his neck.

"Not for a while," he admits. He's good at that, telling her now. "But I brought Chaplin into bed with me and fell asleep after."

"Did you take him out already?" He's bracing her for the lift to her feet. "Ready."

He lifts, she finds her legs shaky as a colt's. He grunts softly, his grip tightening. "No. I will after I get Carter settled with breakfast. It's six."

"Oh, six. That's early. Why-"

"Doctor's appointment at nine, Kate."

Oh. He said that. She can't keep focused. "Sorry."

"Please stop apologizing." His voice is rough, and she nods very slightly to keep from throwing either of them off balance.

She's standing.

It's such a process.

"Under your own power?" he murmurs, a gentler sound now. One of his hands strokes over her hip and flank as if soothing a skittish horse.

She understands that the pain makes her very _animal_ in her nature, that her base reactions are something between wild and feral. The fact that he keeps reaching out a hand to pet her despite her snapping and snarling is something of a wonder.

"I love y-"

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs easily, but she hears the catch in his throat. "Save it. You'll give me a complex."

She smiles, her lips lingering at the hollow of his throat. He steps back first, waiting to see if she'll sink or swim.

This morning, she doesn't sink.

It's not quite swimming, but she manages the bathroom walk on her own.

If he has to reach in and turn on the water, if he has to slide her over the clawfoot tub and inside the shower, if he has to place the soap close to her hand and take away the shampoo and conditioner entirely (she isn't supposed to reach over her head and she _will_ , she'll forget and try to do it, and he knows her), then she will still call this morning a success.

 **x**

Chaplin is mournful when they leave. It makes Castle uncomfortable to see the dog's eyes follow them like that. Chap is standing still in the middle of the crowded living room to watch them out the door - without recrimination, only a full and trembling _yearning._

Rick has some longing of his own. There's something about the dog's bulk and attentiveness, something about how well-heeled he is, how unfazed he is by strangers, how easy-going his attitude. Chaplin is _fun_ , and Castle enjoys their walks threading through rush hour crowds.

But there's no way he can handle Kate, a baby, and the dog all at once. Not through the streets of New York. Kate's building at least has an elevator, though they never used to use it, preferring the spiral staircase on the west end to the service elevator. But Kate isn't cleared for stairs yet.

She does lean against the back wall as the elevator thumps through each floor down. Her hand is gripping the railing, white-knuckled, while he holds Carter in one arm and leaves one free to grab for her just in case.

When it opens on the lobby doors, her lips are pressed in a flat line.

He adjusts the strap of their Carter backpack on his shoulder, and then he offers her a hand. She shakes her head. "Just - hold the elevator doors open for me."

Last time the doors crashed in on them as she was easing off. "I got it," he assures her. Not happening today. They're on time for once, they're going to make it, and he won't exhaust her getting there.

Carter grunts and strains for the shiny metal, and Castle lets him lean out, choosing instead to watch Kate make her way. She scowls. "Don't let him put his mouth on there, Rick."

He curses to himself and spins Carter away from the elevator door, but that brings his body weight off the door as well. He sees her face - stricken - the instant before the doors lurch inward.

It takes jamming his elbow against the near door and sending shockwaves through his funny bone, his hand going nerveless so that he nearly drops Carter, but Kate squeezes through without injury. He adjusts his hold on the baby, wishing he had strapped the kid to his chest, but he steps off the elevator himself without comment.

She's white-lipped, white-knuckled, but she hasn't stopped moving.

At least the car service is right outside. If he can run interference on the sidewalk long enough for her to make it through foot traffic, then they're going to make it.

 **x**

"We should have brought Chaplin," Kate says, sitting upright in the waiting room chair as Castle signs for her. Paperwork. She has to sit here for a moment, gather her strength - and he knows her well enough to give her that time, unmolested, making up things he has to do at the front desk. "We could have left him in the car with the driver, since he wouldn't be allowed in the building."

Castle glances back at her. He's paying, she realizes. She can't remember why he decided it was vital to pay with a check. She can't believe they even take checks. Of course, it's Richard Castle - why wouldn't you take his check?

"Why would we bring Charlie?" he says finally. He has to grab a pen out of Carter's wildly grasping hand. "No, no, Car. Not a toy."

"The dog is - he's nice," she finishes lamely. She was about to say _because it affects you_. She doesn't know why she was going to say that or what it even means, but she saw Rick's face when they shut the door on Chaplin. And he brings the dog into bed almost every night, or gets up and paces the floor with Carter while Chaplin dogs their heels. Dogs. Literally. Huh.

"He is nice," Castle says distractedly. "Carter, I told you, son. Stop that."

Like Carter knows better. Well. Carter _does_ know better. That kid. She's seen his face when he knows he's doing wrong. Keenly aware of it, and really getting a kick out of doing it. And watching _her_ face in response.

The nurse opens the door into the waiting room, holds it for her with a patient smile. Patient for patients. She gestures to Kate. "You ready to head back?"

She swallows. "No." But. Kate glances to her husband. "Help me up?"

He doesn't grimace, exactly, but she knows he's thinking _why didn't you just stay standing? lean against the wall?_ because that is what she should have done. She shouldn't have sat down without his help either, but the ride in the car service wasn't smooth and her body aches from tensing her abs, and the walk into the building plus the elevator ride up and then off and then down the hall - she's wiped.

Rick moves Carter before the baby even realizes that the pen has been put forever out of his reach, and then her husband is plopping him right down on his feet in the middle of the waiting room. An older woman with an oxygen tank gives Castle the side-eye, clearly worried for her continued breathing, but true to form, Carter is so bewildered by the sudden need for balance and agility that he just wobbles there, arms waving.

Castle leans in over her and slides his hands under her thighs, his treatment rough because they both know they have maybe thirty seconds total to get her standing. "Ready?"

"Go."

She gasps when he lifts. A spasm takes even that breath, but Castle is already leaning her back to the wall, forcing her to straighten up. He's gone in an instant, and she has to clutch the stupid plastic ficus tree to keep from sinking to her knees. The nurse catches the small of her back and helps guide her forward.

Castle scoops up Carter a second before he can yank the tube out of the woman's oxygen tank. The older woman looks about as rough as Kate feels, trembling and patting her chest, rocking a little on the chair, tsking at the baby. Kate closes her eyes to keep from laughing - that slightly hysterical sensation bubbling up inside her - because it's probably not funny.

Of course, it will take time to get Carter wrestled into Castle's arms and content again with being held. It's always an effort to still his flailing arms and legs as he bows his back and screams. The lone old woman in the waiting room looks like she is in the process of having a heart attack.

Kate presses the back of her hand to the nurse's wrist to their forward momentum down the hall. These nurses are always so efficient, sweeping her right along to the back. She turns her head. "Rick." If Kate can get her knees to lock this would be easier. "Come with me. Bring him here."

"Yeah, need your magic," he mutters, shifting incrementally her direction. Carter is like a compact little engine, always revving to go, racing away from them and into fiery crashes. Sometimes her touch is like yanking the key out of the ignition.

It takes a second for Castle to make it down the hall to her, moving carefully so he won't drop the thrashing, complaining baby. She's managed to keep her feet, but the nurse is anxious to move her along. Kate lets Castle brace her on one side and the nurse on the other as they walk. "Carter, hey, baby, stop that. Look at me. No more." She can't lift her arm as high as his face, which would be ideal for that 'magic' to work, but she can wrap her fingers around one of his knees and tug. "Carter."

He whines and slumps in Castle's arms, gives one last screech as she tilts her head to avoid a flailing arm.

"Don't let him kick you," Castle breathes, quickly working one-handed to still his legs. "Kate. Careful."

The nurse has the same concerned face that Castle gives her.

"Can't move fast enough to avoid it," she answers them, squeezing Carter's pudgy leg. Something about the pressure and her voice sends him into an altered state. Or maybe it's her tickling touch as she makes circles around his knee with her thumb. "Carter. Enough."

The baby finally gives it up, sinking into a momentary stupor, a fist in his mouth and his eyes heavy on hers.

"Zombie whisperer," Castle sighs, one corner of his mouth twitching up. "If we had brought the dog, this would be impossible."

"Dog?" the nurse startles.

"You'd be less stressed," Kate says thoughtlessly.

"What?"

"No, nothing." Is that what she meant before?

The nurse has to help her to the patient's table inside the room. Castle catches her shoulder and it pulls, but it brings the baby in close.

She shifts just enough to kiss the warm cheek. "Good boy. Much better. Wished this worked every time."

"You and me both," Castle chuckles. He seems a little lighter, breathing easier, but she can tell the toll it takes, being _out_. Out and vulnerable, out and so much precious all in one place. She understands.

More than she likes.

The nurse straps on the pressure cuff and like a reflex, her blood pressure spikes. Kate winces, carefully pushes her knuckles to her sternum, massaging. She might be a little short of breath too.

"Uh-oh," Castle says.

The nurse glances over at him, a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing," he says, gestures to Kate. Inside joke. Rubbing the old scar is her tell.

"Call Dr. Burke," she gives in. "See if he can get us in tomorrow."

Carter screeches, legs and arms flailing as he bounces in Castle's arms. Her husband chuckles, smoothing a hand over the top of Car's head. "Well, at least this little namesake is excited to see Dr Burke."

 **x**


	7. December 7

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **7 December 7**

 **x**

Callie stoops over, sliding Carter into the walker. "Are you sure? I don't feel right about leaving you."

From the living room couch, Kate brushes off the comment. "Rick will be back any minute. Therapy has a set end time." She grins to ease Callie's unease. "Only reason I can make myself go."

The young woman chuckles softly as she buckles the baby in, spins one of the blocks on its ring attached to the walker. "You promise me you won't try to pick him up? Even when he starts screeching?"

"Who's the mom here?" Kate laughs. "Go on. The interview is way more important."

Callie grimaces. "No. Actually, it's not _more_ important. And I really hope that's not the message I'm-"

"Callie," she chides. "You need to get your ass to Brooklyn."

"Alexis is going to kill me," she groans, but she's already striding towards the couch for her coat. She scoops up her keys and phone from the side table, checking the time. "But yeah. I gotta get to Brooklyn."

"This could be the start of something," Kate reminds her. "And while I appreciate your concern for me, you need to focus on you."

Callie is still hesitating. The young woman has done entirely too much for her and Castle this past year. She shouldn't have been baby-sitting their kid when she's in the middle of her research project, when she's struggling to make big life choices for her career.

"If I get this position on the team," Callie says, shrugging on her leather jacket. "You know what it means."

Kate sighs, catching the walker with a foot as Carter comes bulldozing through the living room, giggling like a maniac. "I know. Alexis - she'll figure it out."

"I want her to come with me."

"I know you do." Kate really needs to stay out of it. She's not supposed to be taking sides. And Rick would be - unhappy to say the least. Should his daughter move to New Zealand for Callie's research team. "Two years isn't that long though."

Callie squats down before the walker and cups Carter's face, gives him a rough kiss, her hands so long and strong on his cheeks. "Be good. Zoom, zoom, but be _good_. Don't run over your mama's toes."

"Too late," Kate admits, smiling. "Callie, you need to go if you're going to make it."

"I'm going, I'm going. Thank you." Callie hops up (and Kate envies the ease, so much so that it takes effort to suppress the longing). She bends over Kate and kisses her cheek. "Thanks, K. Call that guy one floor down if you need help, yeah? He keeps hitting on you; he'd jump at the chance."

"Castle would love that," she mutters, rolling her eyes. She doesn't say that the guy one floor down makes her nauseated with anxiety, that his attention makes her feel like she has the crosshairs on her chest all over again.

Just a stupid twenty year old who thinks she's the hot mom. Complete idiot. She made the mistake of showing him her badge; he most definitely has not backed off.

"Bye," Callie says, rising now and heading for the door. "Promise you'll call for help-"

"Callie, get your ass to your Brooklyn."

Callie laughs that rich, head-thrown-back laugh, and it makes Carter do the same, mimicking her. He's still chuckling when Callie blows them kisses and closes the door, and of course that's the trigger that sends Carter into tears.

"Oh, you inconsolable turkey." She shouldn't, but she nudges on the walker with her foot, trying to use mostly her leg muscles and not her abs to push him. "You're fine. I know she's the love of your life, but you heard her. She wants this job, baby, and when she gets it, both your girlfriends are going to wind up being long-distance."

Carter lifts both arms, whimpering for her through his fake tears.

"No, you know I can't. I'm sorry." She moves carefully, using her trick to get off the couch in one controlled slump. This way she can at least kneel next to the walker and put her face in against his, kiss away his melodrama. He clutches fistfuls of her hair and gulps for breath, whimpering now.

He's already calming down. The tears never even fell.

"Alright, now to get off the floor, right, baby?" She grimaces and sinks back on her heels, bracing herself for the effort. She could make a simple meal for them, something easy, if she can get to her feet on her own.

Carter screeches, throws up both hands, and suddenly pushes off against the floor. The walker's wheels go spinning, clacking against the wood, and he's off and running, just that fast.

Leaving her alone in the living room.

 **x**

When Castle finally arrives home - much later than she expected - she's listing hard against the fridge, struggling to maintain her balance. "Why are you alone?" he croaks, the door slamming behind him as he darts towards her.

"Because I'm a grown-ass adult, Rick."

He arrests his forward momentum in the middle of the living room, scrapes a hand down his face. He bends down and pats the ever-attentive Chaplin, smoothing fur with his eyes on her. "Sorry." He starts towards her again at a more sedate pace, though she can see the way he wants to get her off her feet. "Where's Callie?"

"She had a last minute interview with the research team - and don't make that face." She lets him slide both arms around her, draw her against him. Her muscles are tight, hard knots in her back, her shoulders, the effort of standing upright for the last three hours.

"How long have you been alone?" he whispers, a melancholy sound in his voice. Chaplin lets out a low woof and sits back on his haunches.

"I don't think I want to tell you," she whispers back, slowly releasing her fists and letting her body ease into his bracing. "Almost three hours."

"Oh, God."

"Chaplin was a good sheepdog," she promises, flicking her fingers at the dog behind his back. Charlie tilts his head as if following their conversation, and she lets out a long breath. "Where did you go after Burke's?"

A strangled noise comes out of his mouth and she shakes her head minutely, trying not to jostle anything. But also trying to apologize; she didn't mean for that to sound like an accusation.

Suddenly she's jarred back against the refrigerator by the impact of Castle's sudden lurch into her. He curses and immediately pushes off, still keeping an arm at her back for support. "The baby," he breathes, turning to look over his shoulder.

Carter has pushed himself in the walker straight into the back of Castle's legs. Kate laughs as the baby squawks his indignation at his father's lack of greeting. "You might want to get him. He's been stuck in that thing the whole time."

"Oh, good," Castle says gruffly. "At least you haven't had to chase him around."

"I've done plenty of that. We have three broken picture frames and Chaplin's tail is mangled."

"Ouch. Poor guy." He releases her back to the support of the refrigerator and turns to scoop Carter out of the walker. "And I'm not talking about you, little speed demon. Your poor dog. Did you break his tail?"

Carter parrots his father's sounds, albeit in a much more shrill way, bobbing his head and waving an arm. Castle catches the little fist and pries the car out of his hand before he can be clocked with it - too many times that's happened - and then he kisses the baby's palm and fingers and then under his neck until Carter is giggling.

But instead of heading to the couch and wrestling with the baby until those energy levels have come back down to earth, Castle leans in for her. He skims a finger along her jawline and then nudges her chin up with his knuckles. His kiss fits his lips to her cheek, his nose tucked to the bridge of her own. She can feel his spurt of breath against her eyelashes as he hums.

"Are you okay?" she asks then, her skin tightening, tingling. She's not sure he's ever kissed her like that. She thinks he was smelling her skin for a second there. "Rick. Are you-"

"I went to the loft."

 **x**

"You made dinner," he says, glancing dumbly at the rangetop.

"Castle. Back on subject here."

He wrangles Carter on his lap and then lets the baby down to the couch. Car finds a pacifier wedged in between the cushions and tries to attack it, pitching forward to get his mouth on it, his hand-eye coordination not so accurate.

"Castle. You went to the loft."

"For the inventory checklist and the move-out rundown thing." He catches Carter before the boy can topple off the couch, pulls him back to the space between them. "The loft is once again empty."

She flinches.

"It was fine," he promises hurriedly. "No damage." No brown stains growing on the kitchen floor, though he leaves that part out.

"You did that _after_ therapy. You're crazy."

"No. For me? Therapy straightens me out. Like when Chaplin starts going in those tight circles until he gets dizzy? Well therapy is like Dr Burke stops me and makes me go in a straight line."

She lets out a noise that sounds a little like disbelief. "Have you seen Carter do that? He does that now too. Except he can't keep his balance and he falls right over. But I think he's trying to make Chaplin's circles. Our whole family is wound a little tight."

Castle laughs, feels better for that too. At his feet, Chaplin lifts his head from his paws as if he's indignant over Kate's comment. Castle leans forward and scratches between the dog's ears.

"How... was the place?"

He glances quickly at her; she's tugging on Carter's found pacifier, playing tug of war with him like they do the dog. "It was kinda lonely."

She nods and finally looks at him. "I made the very simplest dinner I could. Without the oven. It's probably bland, because I can't reach for the spices."

"You make it sound so appetizing."

She snorts, her eyes darting to Carter. She pops the pacifier out of his mouth and he shrieks, which makes her smile. Her next words are nearly drowned out by Carter's demands. "Is the loft empty?"

"Yeah, other than the furniture we left. Your dad is looking for new tenants."

She guides the pacifier back to Carter's mouth but he spits it out at her, grinning. She grins back, the two of them adoring each other, and Castle's heart flips funny in his chest. He needed his family again after seeing the bare loft, the abandonment.

"Maybe we should give it a rest," she says, suddenly bringing her eyes up to his. "We don't need the income. The medical bills are - exorbitant, I know, but we-"

"We don't," he agrees quickly. "It was only to keep the place livable for the past couple years." He gives a half-hearted shrug. "I was thinking Alexis and Callie might want the place."

Kate pulls a face. He's not sure what it means, but she nods. "Or..."

"Or?"

She glances around the living room, gives a reserved wave of her hand. "Are we really doing this apartment for - for the rest of our lives? Our forever home?"

"Someone's been watching HGTV."

She shoots him daggers with her eyes. "Someone needs to stop filling up the DVR with Chip and Joanna Gaines."

He laughs, feeling it broaden his chest and widen his heart. He lifts from the dog and scoops Carter off the cushions where he's trying to crawl on his mother. "What can I say. I have a crush on-"

"If you say JoJo-"

"I was gonna say Chip."

She snorts, but her lips are pressed so flat that he knows she's struggling to keep a straight face. All he wants for Christmas is right there - Kate pretending he's not funny.

"But yeah, Kate, I'll tell your dad to leave it alone for a month or two. We don't need to do this at the holidays."

She reaches out, apparently forgetting her limitations as she tries to take the baby. Her hands drop, she shakes her head. "The holidays." Her eyes scan the apartment. "We don't even have room for a tree."

"Yeah, we do. It'll just take some arranging," he insists. "And I have the boxes being brought in from storage tomorrow, so you better help me think creatively. And Carter-proof."

In his lap, the baby shrieks at the mention of his name, the dog's head comes up again, and Kate laughs. "Okay, fine. Christmas tree tomorrow. So long as you promise to sweep the pine needles once we get it set up. You know that drives me crazy, and I can't pick them up this year."

He lifts a hand. "Scout's honor." Carter climbs his thighs and gets a foot in his waistband, using Castle's belt like a toehold. "Yeah, you're excited too, aren't you, kiddo? You can play with the lights while Mommy gets them untangled, because that is Daddy's least favorite job. Sound good?"

"Hey, now."

"Too late. Mommy already agreed. We all heard it. Didn't we, Car?"

Carter shrieks and flips out of Castle's arms, crashing to the couch cushions between them with a helpless giggle. On his back now, he waves his arms and kicks his feet, opening and closing his hands like he's waving to them.

Chaplin gets up off the floor and moves to a safer spot under the dining room table. "Me too, Charlie," Kate sighs. "Hiding seems like a good idea."

"Don't believe her, Carter. She loves it. She thinks you're the most adorable thing ever."

Kate bites her bottom lip, reaches out and traces a line down Carter's nose. "Yeah, you got me. You're pretty cute, and you know it." She lifts her eyes to Castle and her smile is that too-full softness she has when she can't explain, can't speak for how it crowds her throat. "Christmas with him seems... the best idea we've ever had. I never expected it to be like this."

 **x**


	8. December 8

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **8 December 8**

 **x**

"Thursday night is movie night," he protests. "What are you doing?"

"Hush, it's not going to ruin movie night." Kate peels back the tape on the box and lifts a flap. "Oh, these are mine."

"Of course they're yours." Castle carries the bowl of popcorn to the ottoman that serves as their coffee table and sets it down. "Why are you doing this now?"

"I feel like it," she says, sticking her tongue out at him. "And you should be grateful, because I don't feel like doing much these days."

"Good point. Let's go for it then."

She unearths a paper snowflake and rubs at the glitter. "I made this in third grade. Fifth grade? How do you have this?"

"We were storing our holiday decor at your dad's," he says quietly, sinking onto the couch at her back. His fingers move to her neck and he digs into a knot that she's been fighting all day. "Your dad's stuff got mixed in, I think."

She eases back against his shin and uses him to prop her up, her fingers dusted with glitter. "Where's Carter?"

"Corralled. Seems to be keeping himself entertained."

She turns her head to search for the too-quiet baby. Carter is just in sight past the baby gate that divides the office from the living room - he's hanging onto the gate and peering out at them, bouncing on his toes. She sees the edge of the dog's tail just past the portable crib.

"Oh," she sighs. "I know it's not fair to you, but can we let him out while we put up Christmas stuff?"

Castle grumbles, but it sounds good-natured. He squeezes her nape in warning and she catches the edge of the ottoman to lean forward so Castle can stand. "You make it sound like he's in baby jail."

"Zoo lock-up, since Chap's in there with him."

"He is?" Castle startles, jogging towards the office. "Oh, no."

"Why? What's-"

"Oh, poor puppy." Castle groans as he steps inside. "I'm so sorry."

She _cannot_ twist her torso to look; she can't. Castle will tell her what's happened, what Carter's done. She can't do sudden movements or she will reinjure what she _just_ had fixed-

"Carter, I should've known you were too quiet. Kate, he's gotten into the paints."

"The _paints_?" She hooks an arm under her thigh and pulls her knee up to her chest, and from there she can shift to look. Castle has the dog by the harness collar. "Oh poor Charlie. Oh, Castle, I didn't realize. I thought you knew he was in there with him."

Chaplin is a crazy mix of colors, his dark coat now lurid red with yellow spots. Castle is standing in the middle of the office with a grip on the dog, looking like he's at a loss. "What do I do?"

"I'll get an old bed sheet, or maybe a towel. You just - keep Carter away from him. Is Carter covered?"

"The seat of his pants and his hands, oh no, and the baby gate, and the floor. There's yellow paint all on this side." He scans the office quickly and then gestures to her. "Can you get up?"

"I'm working on it," she mutters. "What about Chaplin, is it in his eyes?"

"No, he just looks like a big furry... Christmas card." He scrubs both hands through his hair and Kate sees a smear of red streak through.

She bites her bottom lip and tries to use the ottoman and the couch cushions to shove herself upright, just like she did yesterday when Callie left.

Castle grunts as if it pains him to watch her. "Hey, you know what? I know we sat down and sent out Christmas cards to the masses, but we should have Carter use the rest of the paint and make another."

"Make a - make a card?" she huffs, on her knees now and almost there.

"You okay?"

"Castle, it's just a process," she grits out.

"Right. We have paper, open paints, and a grubby kid. So let's do it. We'll make copies of it at the printer, send to family."

"Why do we have paints? Where did the paints come from?" She's hunched over now, at least, that much closer.

"I think my mother," he sighs. "She buys those craft things, the kits? And this one was some poster thing. I don't know. It was in the desk drawer."

"But we baby proofed." She's on her feet now, and Castle applauds with a little smirk to which she gives him the finger. She's swaying, and to keep from falling, she lurches forward, using her momentum to stride towards the bedroom. "Didn't we put those child locks on the drawers?" she calls back.

"We did. It's in three pieces on the floor here."

Kate gingerly reaches for the wardrobe door, shuffling backwards to open it and search for linens.

"Any sheet will do, Kate," he shouts from the office. "Hurry, if you can. Carter is trying to ride the dog."

That kid. She grabs the first thing she finds, one of his boring beige sheets that don't fit their bed here, they only fit the specialty king-sized mattress at the loft.

But these were the sheets on his bed that first night. She can still smell burning ozone and the rain in hair when she closes her eyes. She can almost feel his body bearing hers down.

"Kate?"

"Coming!" She shoves them back on the stack and grabs the pale green instead, makes her way to the living room. When she hands the sheet over, Castle doesn't even look at it, just wraps the sheet around their poor dog and lifts Chaplin up into his arms.

"He hasn't complained, didn't even bark at us. He just laid there and took it."

She shakes her head and watches Castle step over the baby gate. "He's a good dog. Maybe _too_ good."

"I'm going to hose him off in our bathtub. You mind?"

"Where else?" she scoffs. "He's too big for the kitchen sink."

"Be right back. Don't let him touch anything." Castle takes the dog out and Kate turns her eyes to Carter. He's bouncing on his toes at the gate, gripping the bars, and she can see red smeared on the back of his jeans, yellow drying under his little finger nails. Red smeared deep into the wood floors like a blood stain.

"What a mess," she shivers, slowly lowering herself to the floor at the gate. Carter shrieks in happiness, but she can't pick him up. She can only entertain him while she waits for Castle. "What did you do to our poor puppy? I know you're bored. You don't have a lot of space. But Car, that's not nice to do to Chaplin. He's your best friend."

"Muh-ma!"

She sinks back on her heels, wincing as the surgical site tugs. Her surgeon changed the bandages in the office and had to debride the place where the stitches split, and it's a little raw tonight.

And now her son is rattling the bars of the baby gate, completely unhappy to have her so close but still be stuck on the other side. His shrieks turn from happy to indignant, and then his mouth twists down and his eyes well up with tears.

She cups his cheeks and smooths her thumbs under his eyes, catching the overflow, kissing his squirming, unhappy face. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make you feel neglected. Poor baby. I know. I can't pick you up, Carter. I can't. If I did, we'd be doing this all over again. Stop crying, baby. You're supposed to be in trouble for painting the dog. You're just breaking my heart instead."

When Castle finally comes back through, searching for the dog shampoo, he finds them both crying.

Movie night is ruined.

 **x**

With Chaplin dry and smelling of strawberry dog shampoo, with Carter stripped to his diaper and happily smearing paint over a piece of white cardboard, Kate looks better already. If a little sheepish.

Rick loads the DVD into the player and turns on the television, setting up **Elf** to play. His wife is sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Carter's creative space, where they moved the ottoman out and laid down garbage bags.

"I'll make hot chocolate with a little peppermint schnapps in it," he tells her. "And another bowl of popcorn."

She glances at him and nods, but her eyes go back to Carter. "Try the green again, baby." She's nudging the paint pot his direction, one of those plastic things where the lids pop off all too easily. The green is the only color he left intact. "I'm trying to get his whole hand print. But he's totally not cooperating."

Castle starts the microwave for another bag, dusts off his hands on the dish towel. When he pulls out the liquor bottle from the high cabinet beside the fridge, he nearly topples over two glasses. Everything is cramped in this place; he hasn't yet figured out how to arrange everything.

He starts the cocoa and milk on the stove, wanting to make it the old fashioned way, and he sets the schnapps to one side. He glances back to the living room where Kate is perched on the garbage bags with Carter, tracing a design in the air as if trying to give the kid art lessons.

"How's it coming?"

"It's a big smear of green right now."

The red paint was all on Chaplin, but something must have spooked the kid before he could grab more fistfuls of the poor dog's fur, because the yellow was mostly on himself. Chap has a red fringe around his neck that Castle couldn't get out - it must have stained because it's a pale pink - but that has left the perfect color for Carter's holiday masterpiece.

"We can get a black marker and draw in the outline of a tree or something later. It's just the idea, mostly, we're going for." She grins at him and he heads for the microwave to pull out the popcorn. It's hot and he sucks on the tips of his fingers as he pours the bag into a bowl. "M&Ms too?"

"No, just the salt. You're making hot chocolate so."

"True." He loves the contentment on her face, the half distraction as she hovers near Carter, ready to keep him on the garbage bags, on task. Castle puts the bowl down on the couch cushion behind her. "None for him. He nearly choked on the kernels earlier."

"Babies can't have popcorn," she scoffs at him, lifting incredulous eyes.

"Well."

"Castle."

He shrugs. Probably not the smartest, but he was watching the kid. And no, he won't be giving him more. Castle points to the paint as he heads back for the cocoa. "Maybe take the last of the red away from him. If he smears red and green, it will just be a brown blob."

"Oh, good point," Kate says, shifting to slide out the first piece of cardboard and subtly move the red paint. Carter shrieks and waves his hands at her, but she already has the clean piece in place, and the kid quiets. "Are these the cardboard backings to your shirts?"

"Well, to your dad's Christmas gifts," he admits. "I was afraid plain paper would get soaked with paint and never dry."

"Smart man." She gives him a full smile that lights up the whole room, beaming at him from the floor. "Sorry I lost it. I couldn't pick him up and I just - lost it."

"Hey, I get it," he answers. The cocoa is simmering, and that's good enough; she'll burn her tongue if it's any hotter because she never waits for it to cool. She drinks her coffee like that too. "I understand. It's hard to say no to that face."

"It really is," she sighs. "No, baby, stay on the garbage bags." She snorts and glances back to him. "Well, I guess not impossible, since I just did, huh?"

He chuckles, bearing mugs of hot (warm) cocoa. She leans back against the couch and takes one from him, breathing in the steam and closing her eyes for a moment. "Thank you."

"You're welcome but stop thanking me, Kate." He settles down across from her with his back to the television. Buddy the Elf is having a time of it traversing the North Pole for New York to find his long-lost father. He loves the look on her face as she sips cocoa and watches their son.

He could recite every word of this movie, not because it's one of his favorites, but because it's one she's never minded to watch during the Christmas season. It's become _their_ movie because it's mostly funny and it doesn't remind her of loss. And now they're incorporating their kid into the tradition.

"Rick."

He glances up at her. She has the mug pressed against her chest, her eyes glittering with the light from the television.

"Where did you put those boxes of Christmas stuff?"

"I just shoved them behind the couch."

She nods slowly, her eyes trail back to Carter. "When he goes to bed tonight, I want to get them back out. We don't even have the tree up yet. I know we got busy, but we should have the tree up."

"Sounds good," he says easily, trying not to make a big deal out of it.

She lifts her eyes to him again, and he knows she sees it anyway. Her cheeks flush and she lifts one shoulder in her best attempt at a shrug. "I'm more of a mess than I usually am at Christmas. Because I can't pick him up, hold him like I want to. I've been afraid that I'll miss out on Carter's firsts, you know? So I keep putting off the good stuff in the hopes that later I'll be able to do more, be more. Because that's really the best part of the holidays for me. Watching him."

"I know." He doesn't even take that the wrong way; he gets it. Carter has changed things for both of them.

"But you keep finding ways for me to still be involved. Like painting a Christmas card? I never would have... he's happy, he thinks I'm right here with him, and we made this - well, it's not a masterpiece, but it is a good memory, and a good story that we'll tell. Probably every year, embarrass him. And you did that for us." Her smile is as magical as Christmas lights. "So thank you, Rick."

Movie night is saved.

"Then let's get that tree up."

 **x**


	9. December 9

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **9 December 9**

 **x**

"How's Rick?" she asks, before Dr Burke can even sit down.

The therapist does though, taking his time, and when he's facing her across the office, he laces his fingers together and settles in, studying her.

She rolls her eyes and gestures towards herself. "Right, I know. Me first. Okay, had surgery eight days ago, can't pick up my own kid but that's no different, my chest burns when I move, um, what else?" She blows out a breath. "Oh, and my husband is having nightmares again and I'm usually sleeping on the couch. How's that?"

"Nice summary," he says, his deep voice sounding through the room. "How's my namesake?"

She presses her lips together. It's their joke, Rick's and Dr. Burke's. He knows they didn't do it on purpose, but he and Rick think it's so funny that she had Carter on her short list, and even more hilarious that when Castle picked it in the hospital, they both had that funny feeling they'd heard it before.

"Car is good," she says finally, touching her fingers to her lips and feeling herself smile. "He's a handful, and I guess I imagine he's exactly like Rick was as a kid. Or really, still."

Dr. Burke grins. It's sometimes so disconcerting to see their therapist so tickled by the kid. "How is parenthood?"

"Easier than it's meant to be," she sighs. "No, I know. I'm doing what I can, but I feel like so much of the work is left to Rick. Which is not how I intended this to go."

"You made a promise," he prompts.

"I know it's stupid."

"What did I say about calling things stupid?"

"Right. No calling it stupid. I mean, I'm not dumping the kid on Rick. I'm there for everything - because I'm stuck at home all day every day. Every damn day."

Dr. Burke's eyebrows lift.

"Scratch that," she mutters. "Let's start over. Hi, Dr. Burke, thanks for seeing me and my husband last minute. I'm managing my expectations and my baby is my light in the darkness. Now are you allowed to tell me about Rick?"

He chuckles, scratches something down on his notepad. It's the first time in a few months he's had to take notes on their sessions. He used to record them, but she was too paranoid for that to last.

"Well," he says slowly. "Have you asked Rick yourself?"

She narrows her eyes at him.

"I'll take that as a no," he says. "What about the pain medication?"

"It's just advil and tylenol right now." She touches her thumb to the spot at her side. "You saw that whole process just to sit down. I'm being careful this time."

"Good. You don't want to start back at square one."

She shakes her head, watching him jot that down, his pen scratching the pad. She wonders which part he's taking note of, what she said that set it off, and what from this session will come up the next time they meet.

"So," he starts, lifting his head, "the loft is empty again?"

She's not sure why that blindsides her so badly. Kate presses her thumb against the old scar at her side that they reopened for one of the surgeries after they were shot, and she uses the discomfort to draw her away from the reeling sense of betrayal.

Why? Who betrayed her? What's really been betrayed?

But she makes the connections faster than she might have two weeks ago, back when Castle wasn't having nightmares. "That's what he talked about with you. The loft?"

"How do you feel about the loft being empty?"

"I have no feelings. I wonder about making some of our medical payments, but I'm pretty sure we have it covered. The extra rent was nice, since he owns the place outright - we own - but it's not a big dent."

"Money."

She frowns. "And it's empty." Burke never _leads_ her quite like this. "His home is empty." She stares at him, breath catching at the revelation. "Rick's home is empty again."

Dr Burke merely waits for more.

"And he's having nightmares." But the nightmares came first. The combination of dreams of dying with the loft being uninhabited, not taken care of, an unknown once more- "Is it because it's one more thing he has to worry about?"

"These are all good questions to-"

"Right, I know," she growls. "To ask him. I will. I'll ask him. It didn't even occur to me." Her old apartment is _small_ for two adults, a dog, and a baby with more crap than the rest of them combined. "Christmas is kind of a crazy time though. Maybe in-"

She cuts off at the scowl on Burke's face.

Kate drops her hands to her lap, nods. "Okay. Tonight."

He smiles. "Very good, Kate. I think we're making excellent progress."

 **x**

"Hey, Rick, come see what I did."

Castle rounds the kitchen table and comes upon both of them on the floor in front of the still-bare Christmas tree. Kate has Carter on his back, a dirty cloth diaper folded to one side, but she's changed his clothes as well as the diaper.

He's wearing elf pajamas.

Castle cracks up, laughing as he sinks down to hoist Carter upright. "Well, look at this. How festive you are, race car." The pajamas are red and white striped with green cuffs and a green collar, plus feet that are made to look like curled shoes. Carter is chewing on his pacifier and even that has a red and green theme. "Where did you get this?"

"Internet," she grins. "Came today while you were at the printer."

"Our cards should be delivered in eight days, or so he said." Castle tosses the dish towel over one shoulder and sits down beside her. The ottoman is still pushed to one side where they had Carter painting last night, and it gives them a little more room. "Hey, Carter, don't you look cute."

The baby babbles something behind the pacifier and then spits it out with a beaming grin. "Dada-da-da!"

"That's right. Who needs it?" Castle draws the baby into him for a squeezing hug, settles Carter in his lap. "You ready for decorating? Dishes are almost done."

"I definitely am, didn't you see _my_ outfit?" She leans back against the couch and lets him see the full view; he chuckles when he catches a glimpse of her Christmas sweater. It's dark green with strands of lights stitched diagonally across, little glittering bulbs. It could be tackier, but it's also _really_ not Beckett. Way too kitschy for her.

"You get that online too?"

"Came with his elf pjs. We're cute, right?"

"Pretty cute." It's stupid to be smiling this much. And he knows she's trying for him, for his sake, because he loves decorating for Christmas a little more than she's comfortable with but she's doing it anyway.

Kate winds an arm around his shin. "When you're done with the dishes, I might have bought you one too."

"You didn't."

"You done with the dishes?"

He takes the towel off his shoulder and chucks it back towards the kitchen. It falls hopelessly short, and he sees the laughter in her eyes, but he doesn't care. "I'm done. Where's mine?"

Kate nods towards the bare tree and Castle stands swiftly, putting Carter on the floor with her as he makes a beeline for the tree. Just under the branches, scooted in almost behind the tv stand is a solitary department store box. He hooks it with a finger and pries the lid off.

Castle chuckles as he takes out the sweater. Brilliant red, with fluffy white cuffs and a black mid-waist buckle. "Santa's coat?"

"Yup, put it on, Rick."

He does, pulling it on over his untucked plaid shirt, adjusting the sleeves when they get bunched up underneath. He has to stretch out the neck a little where it's tight, but it mostly fits. It probably looks better this way too, awkward fit and everything. "This is insane. I can't believe you did this."

"Get your phone. We're taking a family photo. First Christmas."

He digs his phone out of his back pocket even while Kate is struggling off the floor and onto the couch. He finds the kickstand phone accessory on one of the bookcase shelves, and then he props up his phone on the front of the television stand. It's a little low, but as he aims the shutter for the couch, he thinks it will work.

He sets the timer and runs back to them, scooping Carter off the floor and plopping down with her on the couch. He has just enough time left to adjust the baby over both of their knees and then smile before the camera flash goes off.

"Look at it, I think my eyes were closed."

"Here." He pushes Carter into her lap and she takes the baby easily, bouncing him with one knee to keep his attention. Castle hops up and checks his phone, zooming in on the image to be sure. "No, it's perfect. It's hilarious." He lifts his gaze from the photo and finds her grinning ear to ear on the couch, so eager, so pleased with herself.

He comes back to the couch with his phone to show her, and he scoops their little elf out of her arms, blows kisses on the boy's neck until he squeals.

Kate hands him back his phone, still grinning. "You really didn't know about the sweaters?"

"Not a clue."

"Then I guess there's hope for your Christmas present still being a surprise."

He shakes his head. "I have no idea, promise. I told you I wouldn't look."

She gestures for him to help her up, and he leans in, gripping Carter with one arm and her with the other. When they finally rise, he kisses her temple, and then lays a longer kiss to her lips.

She sways for a moment, clutching the sewn-on belt of his red sweater. "I figured since you're the one bringing me Christmas cheer, and this guy is your little delivery elf, it was only right, Santa."

 **x**

The tree is so beautiful.

It's crammed with ornaments just as much as the apartment itself is crammed, but isn't that just a mirror of their life? Filled with love. Half of the hanging things are from Alexis's childhood, made in elementary school or commemorating an event in her life, but there are already a handful she's never seen before that Rick must have bought for Carter.

Of course, the whole lower third of the tree is bare of anything but the felted animals and soft angels and the Santas made of cotton balls so that Carter can grab to his heart's content.

"Rick," she murmurs, standing before the tree.

"I know," he huffs. "There's one ornery light. I'm trying to find it, but I have to go through every single one on the strand."

She tears her eyes away from the star crowning the top and finds Castle on his hands and knees half under the tree, his ass hanging out. She smirks, debates if it would be worth the ache in her abdominals if she smacks his ass a little. Kicking is definitely off the table because she can't lift her leg without serious tearing, but a light swat with her hand?

A knee bend is all it would take. Can she-

"Don't even think about it, Beckett."

She laughs, arrests her downward movement. "You caught me."

He wriggles his butt her direction and scoots backwards out from under the tree. Needles dust down his sweater and stick in his hair, and as he comes up to his knees, she reaches out and brushes at the speck of gold glitter under his eye.

"Did you get it?"

"Me?" she smiles. "Did _you_ get it? The light."

"No," he growls, pushing off on a knee and getting to his feet. He somehow towers over her, and she's rocking back on her heels, surprised by it. Rick chuckles and catches her with a palm to the small of her back. "Skittish?"

"No," she mutters. Her cheeks are burning.

"Still thinking about my ass?"

She presses her lips flat. "Maybe."

He laughs and slides his hand up her back to her nape, his fingers warm and strong. "I see. Been a while."

She groans and tips her forehead into his chin, closing her eyes. " _Entirely_ too long."

"And you want me so bad."

"You're insufferable." She fists the material of his plaid shirt just under the hem of the sweater (he smells like pine and glitter). "And I want you so very badly."

Castle laughs again, wrapping both arms around her, bracing her spine so that her abs don't have to do the work. The sudden support makes her feel boneless and exhausted even as her blood hums under her skin. For him.

"Nice to hear," he whispers, a press of his lips to her ear. "But your surgeon would kill me."

She sighs because it's true, because she doesn't want to have to start this all over again. Healing. It's her own fault they're here now, that she needed the surgery in the first place. If she had just-

"You're thinking about it," he mutters, squeezing her hips. "Stop thinking about the sex we can't have."

She laughs, nudges her nose into his neck. She wasn't thinking about sex, but it's sweet that he thinks she is, that he doesn't doubt her like she doubts herself.

"I can't wait to see Carter's face when he sees the tree." Castle rubs his hands down her arms and squeezes.

"I bet he knocks off every ornament down here. And tries to climb it."

Castle grumbles at her for ruining his lovely image, but she knows he's not refuting it.

She pushes back from him, if not enough to actually go anywhere, then enough to make a statement. "Fix my twinkling lights, Rick."

"Yes, ma'am." He salutes her and tucks his thumbs into the Santa belt at his sweater. "Here to service your every tree need."

She snorts, but he reaches out and tugs one of the sparkling sequins on the string of lights on her own sweater, and she gets the not-subtle message. She hates to break it to him but, "My 'tree' needs a good night's sleep and about two more weeks of healing before it's serviced. Unfortunately."

Instead of stepping away to finish the work, Castle cups her face and brushes his lips to hers. "Doesn't mean I can't kiss you softly under the mistletoe."

"Melodramatic romantic," she whispers.

"Anything for you."

She'll ask about the loft tomorrow.

 **x**


	10. December 10

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **10 December 10**

 **x**

Carter is being impossible. Whiny, throwing things across the room, temper tantrums when he can't have Kate. Castle has been attempting to finish decorating the apartment, and willing to let the baby roam the living room and kitchen since Kate is keeping an eye out, but it means he's the one who has to run after the boy when he gets into new mischief.

Which is every thirty seconds.

"That boy," he growls, jumping to his feet to race after Carter. Kate is using a foot to keep the baby away from the table leg where he's trying to gnaw on the wood. "Carter."

"Car." Kate is gripping the kitchen chair to keep her balance, her lips blanched white from the effort of holding Carter off. Rick hates that look on her face.

"Carter," he insists, jumping the storage tub that he thought would keep the baby hemmed into the living room.

"We sure do wear his name out," she winces, right as Castle gets to her side. "Good thing we both like it. What were the names on your list?"

"What?" Castle hauls Carter away from the table and curses, fishes another Christmas figurine out of the baby's mouth. "What is up with you today?" he mutters, tossing the plastic angel towards the kitchen sink. It pings the ceramic and then slings back out, skittering across the kitchen floor. Chaplin lurches out from under the table and rushes for it, nudging it with his nose so that it goes shooting across the floor.

Kate laughs, a kind of helpless, pained sound that makes Castle turn around.

She waves him off, shakes her head, but she's bracing her stomach with a forearm.

"Names," he echoes belatedly. He wrestles Carter in his arms and scoops the angel off the floor, but he has to move fast to keep it away from the boy. He heads for the fridge, hides the angel on top and yanks open the freezer door. He finds one of the teething rings and squeezes it, mashing the gel inside to see how frozen it is. Not very. "Here, Car, try this." Kate doesn't like the angels anyway; she said they were creepy.

"Is he teething again?"

"I think so." When Carter opens his mouth wide for the ring, Castle ducks his head to look. "The two on the bottom might finally have another two on the top."

"Finally," she huffs. "He's been so late."

"I guess that's why he's chewing on the table and putting everything in his mouth."

"Wow, he's making love to that teething ring. Here, let me have him."

He eyes her at the uncomfortable kitchen table where she's been stringing garland made from her paper snowflakes and Alexis's old decorations. She has stacks of construction paper and glitter, and maybe she's ready for a break; there's no way Carter will leave all that fun stuff alone.

"On the couch maybe?" Kate says, apparently reading his mind. "I can push up from the table myself, but on the way down-"

"I'll be your spotter," he promises, shifting Car so the baby is face out and cradled in one arm. He has a tight hold of the teething ring too, so Castle's other hand is free to help his wife.

True to her word, she manages the straight up part, using upper body strength alone to get to her feet. She takes a moment once she's there to get her balance, and he's grateful for that, how she really has watched out for herself this time around.

"Rose," he says quietly, holding out an arm to brace her if she needs it. "And Maren."

"Maren?" she whispers, lifting her eyes to his. "That's different."

"Anna," he sighs, sliding his arm around her waist as she falters. Must be a no on Rose. "Anna. In case you..."

"In case?" She skates a hand down Carter's leg and watches the baby for a moment. "You mean a normal one in case I-"

"For your mom, kind of. If you wanted."

"Oh." She stares at him, her eyes reflecting back only the lights on the tree. "Anna."

"Just a thought."

"I really love the thought, Rick," she says softly.

But not the name? Or not naming their possible daughter after her mother? Hard to know with Kate. It was on his list for that very reason. "Bend your knees, I've got you."

She lets her knees release but he has a tight hold on her upper back, arm under her armpit and keeping her upright. It's a controlled descent, and they're good at this now, old pros, so that she doesn't even wince when her body settles onto the couch.

"That's only three," she says. "We said five each, pick from that list."

"I know," he chuckles, shifting Carter into her lap.

She wraps her arms around the baby and buries her nose in the top of his head. Her eyes close.

She looks beautiful. Adoring their son, memories of his birth, of holding him as a newborn, walking the floor with him in the middle of the night, feeding him Cheerios for the first time one by one, watching him figure out how to scoot across the floor, the thrill on his face when he learned to run.

All of that in one tilt of her chin and sweep of her eyelashes, as if he can read her mind or they're equally as desperately grateful for their miracle - this life together.

She opens her eyes, her cheek on the top of Carter's head. The baby has leaned back against her, looking sleepy and content as he chews on the teething ring, his eyes drooping. "Someone's ready for his nap," she offers, stroking her fingers around his chubby little legs. "I've never seen him so still."

"Me either," Rick says softly, sinking down to the couch with them. The loft is only half-decorated, mostly because despite the energy with which he tackled the project this morning, he's spent so much of his time rearranging furniture and running after a baby.

He rubs his knuckles against Carter's arm.

Kate eases into him, shoulder to shoulder, so that Castle is bracing her. He dips a kiss to the corner of her eye. "Grace," he sighs. "Rose, Maren, Anna, and Grace."

"And?" She nuzzles in against his lips for a moment, a breath at his ear. "One more, Rick. Fifth name on your list."

"I left it blank," he admits. "I left it - open to possibilities."

"A sign from the universe?" she teases gently. Her body has finally relaxed against his, the tension dissolving. "What would you have done if our nurse's name had been Ethel or-"

"Not like that," he smiles, drawing his arm around her and their son. "Not a sign from the universe but an open door. For you, Kate. For a name you had your heart set on."

She quiets, going still within the cove of his arm. Carter's eyes are dragging, the teething ring in his open mouth making him drool.

But Kate lifts a hand and catches Castle's ear, turning her head into him. "Rick."

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't follow the rules of our bet at all. I was just too grateful to have you and the unborn that I couldn't even think about-"

"Shut up. I'm in love with you, you big sentimental idiot." She catches his jaw in her teeth and groans. "I'm in love with you and I can't do a damned thing about it."

"I certainly hope not. Never want you to escape my trap."

She laughs, a little shaky, but he thinks they're back on even footing again. She knocks her cheek against his and he lays a protective hand at Carter's head, bringing the slumping boy back against her chest. The baby is asleep.

"Want me to put him down?" he whispers.

"No," she murmurs. "I want us to hold him right here until it hurts too much."

 **x**


	11. December 11

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **11 December 11**

 **x**

They can hear the baby babbling to himself over the monitor. Six in the morning, his usual wake-up, but they know he'll talk for another hour, sometimes longer, before he becomes insistent on breakfast.

"I wonder what he thinks he's saying," Castle murmurs, his fingers trailing down the back of her thigh.

"It sounds serious, whatever it is." She shivers under his touch, and that sends twinges of pain through her abdomen. Lying on her stomach with her body pressed as close to his as she can, Kate can almost trick herself into forgetting her limitations.

And then she moves a fraction and reminds herself. She's trying really hard not to feel miserable about it. Lying in bed listening to their baby hold an entire conversation on his own should be adorable, and it is adorable, and she will get there. "If I didn't know better, I'd think someone was in there with him."

Castle stiffens. He has an overactive imagination; he can think the worst. But to her benefit, it also means a too-believing heart; he can always think the best of her.

"Sorry," she whispers, kissing the top of his shoulder and twining her arm around his. He laces their fingers, says nothing, but she knows he's simply finding his equilibrium. "It just sounds like one side of a conversation. Like he's rehashing something from yesterday and explaining what happened."

Rick manages to pick up the thread, and she silently rejoices at how quickly he rebounds. "Or making excuses for his behavior."

"He wasn't that bad," she chuckles. "He was teething."

"Yeah, you're the one who got to cuddle him on the couch until he fell asleep last night."

"He was so sweet," she hums, smiling. "A little relief and he melted in my arms."

Castle makes grumbling noises but it's all for show, and they both know it.

For another handful of minutes, they float on the sounds of their baby in his crib, making noises with his tongue and lips, babbling almost real words, laughing to himself. He sounds so bright, untouched by their world and the things they've seen. And for him to be the fruit of such a poisoned tree, a panic attack one night in the Hamptons in April, soon after Castle's birthday, when she had the irrational certainty they were never going to be clear of the blood and death - and Rick so desperate to ease her.

She swallows hard and opens her eyes to the wash of grey light that has begun to seep into the bedroom.

"Rick... I need to get out of here," she says, speaking against his shoulder. "I can't take another day cooped up."

"We'll go out," he says immediately, his fingers squeezing hers where they're laced. "We'll go to brunch. That place down the street from the gym, remember? They have blueberry syrup."

She laughs, mostly air and relief. "They do. It's good. Are you sure? It'll be such a damn process."

"That's why I said brunch and not breakfast."

"Rick," she chokes out.

"Hey, I get it," he says, turning his body carefully until he's on his side and his eyes are even with hers. He kisses her nose. "I'm feeling stir crazy myself."

"Yeah," she breathes, trying to smile. "You know I'm bad at this."

"You can be good when you want to," he nudges. But he darts in and kisses her nose again (he knows she hates that, how patronizing it feels), and then he untangles their fingers and bodies, slipping free of the bed with an ease that makes her jealous. "I'll shower first while the zombie's still pacified. Come get you after."

He wriggles his eyebrows and sheds clothes as he goes, slinging his t-shirt towards the floor.

She'll surprise him in the shower. She's faster than he thinks, when she has a goal in mind. When pancakes with blueberry syrup dance inside her head.

 **x**

His wife walks leisurely at his side in the Sunday morning brunch crowd. It seems like their whole block is out in force today, soaking up the rare sunshine and blue skies, neighbors meeting up for coffee or picking through the vegetable stall at the corner.

Castle carries the baby in the sling against his chest, Carter facing out and kicking his feet, making bright faces at everyone who passes. Most people beam smiles back, a few even stop them to tickle Carter's chin or tug a foot, like a baby is somehow public property, belonging to them all.

It gives Kate the chance to rest, so Rick tells himself it's fine, that the attention never used to bother him, that it's just their own block in their own borough. They had to leave Chaplin at home because Brother Juniper's doesn't allow pets, and Rick wishes he had the beast at his side. It at least deters a few people.

When they arrive at their favorite brunch place, Castle turns to her just outside. "I'll find the hostess, if you want to stay here and avoid the crush?"

"Yeah," she nods, leaning in to lightly kiss Carter's cheek. "Stop squealing, Car. Zoom, zoom."

Carter kicks his feet and moos like a cow in an attempt to mimic his mother, causing them both to laugh and the baby to bounce in the sling. Castle squeezes her shoulder and turns for the front door, pushing through the crowd, half of them making way just for the baby.

A young girl is nodding earnestly as an older woman gives a detailed rundown on the things she's allergic to (a tourist, he's horrified to note; they've invaded Brother Juniper's?). Castle waits until the woman takes a long enough breath, and he jumps in. "Excuse me? I had reservations for two and a baby."

The hostess turns eager-to-escape eyes to him. "Oh, yes, sir. What's the name?"

"Beckett."

She scans a short list and lifts her head with a polite smile. "Yes, sir. I have you here. Oh, look at him, chewing on his fist. How cute."

Castle glances down, removing the protective hand he has over the baby's head, and sees Carter is indeed chewing on his fingers, gumming wildly. "Poor kid is teething. Carter, my man, the ring feels much better than your own fingers." Castle digs down the front of the sling, searching for the teething ring; Kate fashioned it with a ribbon from one of the pacifier clips, and once he hooks a finger on the ribbon, it's easy to pull up. "Hey, here you go." He entices the baby with the still-cool teething ring and gestures back towards the door. "My wife is just outside. Where's our table, and I'll get her."

"You're right over in the corner, like you requested, Mr Beckett."

He grins and sees the turquoise metal dining table with its scarred wooden top, their usual favorite. It's away from the windows but has enough of a view they can both see people coming.

Yeah, they're paranoid. They just try to work with it. "Thanks. Let me get my wife."

"I'll lay out menus and get you a couple of waters. Do you need a high chair?"

He casts a speculative look across the crowded restaurant and shakes his head. "Probably not a good idea. Thank you though."

Castle threads his way back through the crowd at the door, heading for Kate outside.

"Good news," he tells her with a grin. "The line wasn't that long. We got a table."

 **x**

She's astonished to be sitting at their usual table near the corner, with those perfect lines of sight to the front door and a wall at their backs. It seems too good to be true that this is all working out so well for them.

She almost doesn't hurt.

Okay, well, she does hurt, but sitting together at the cozy table with Carter in Castle's lap across from her, making faces at each other, she can almost forget the hurt. Carter laughs and smacks both hands on the table, rattling the water glasses and drawing attention. Smiles and indulgences from the people around them.

Castle kisses the top of the baby's head and smooths down the wispy hair. Their waitress returns with strawberry Belgian waffles for her and his chocolate chip and banana pancakes with their blueberry syrup. Carter lunges for the food, but Rick manages to catch the baby's hands and draw him back, chuckling as Carter screeches in protest.

"Car," she warns. "None of that. We're gonna feed you." She plucks a cut strawberry from her plate and pushes it into Carter's mouth, feeling two new teeth at the top. "Ouch. Wow. Baby, no wonder you were gnawing away on that thing."

"Teeth?"

"Two on the top."

Castle laughs brightly, causing her to lift her eyebrows at his amusement. He shakes his head. "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth?"

"Oh," she groans, rolling her eyes and fishing another strawberry off her plate. She pushes it past those teeth, Carter stretching out his neck, mouth wide for more. "Baby bird."

Rick grins, shifting the baby on his lap. "If you can keep him busy with some fruit and waffle, then I can shovel this down."

"No, don't rush through it, babe." She scoops a few strawberries onto a coffee saucer and pushes it in front of Carter. "Take your time. When I'm done, I'll hold him and you can finish."

"No, you shouldn't-"

"I can. Promise." She levels him with a confident smile. "He stays still for food."

Castle hesitates, a look on his face she can't parse, but he doesn't say no to her. It's always difficult to eat with the baby at the table, but she's right. Carter calms down when food is in front of him, focusing intently on getting it in his mouth, doing it himself. He'll let her feed him pieces when his hand-eye coordination just won't catch up to his determination, but they could spend hours on just a few pieces of fruit.

Kate isn't hurrying, but her appetite has been suppressed lately due to the surgery and recovery, the medication and her messed up routines. She takes a few bites and offers Carter a soft piece of waffle to gum, and his smile for that gift beaming back at her makes it worth it.

Rick eats one-handed, allowing her to run interference when Car wants to lunge for a water glass or a slice of orange from the dish. She lets him grab the orange, flicking a seed from the juicy flesh before Carter can stick it in his mouth. But he doesn't, apparently not knowing it's food - or not willing to try it. He merely peers at the orange slice, patting it with a hand.

"Orange," she tells him. "It's good. Like this, watch." She takes a slice for herself and bites down, all the way into the rind, the juice dribbling down her chin. She turns to Carter and smiles, the orange peel in her mouth, and he cackles with laughter.

Castle grins pretty wide too, chuckling more at the baby than her. She sucks on the juice and mangled pulp, and she pulls it out of her mouth. "See? Tastes good. You try it."

Instead, Carter rears back and chucks the orange across the table.

"Well, that's done," she says calmly, plucking the orange from her water glass and dropping it back on the plate, then removing the plate entirely from his sight. "Maybe at home. No throwing, Carter. You hear me? No." She shakes her head and gives him a serious face which he's just become aware enough to understand.

But it barely makes a dent in his mischief, or his grin. He doesn't attempt throwing anything else, afraid she'll take it away from him, probably, but he does lunge for her plate.

"Ah-ah," she chides, even as Rick pulls him back and says something soft and scolding in his ear. "Mine. I'll give you some. Be patient."

But Castle has to put his fork down to catch Carter's hand as he reaches for Kate's coffee mug. "Not quite yet. Soon, I'm sure, with the way Mommy and I guzzle it down. Look, Car, what does Mom have for you? Mm, waffle. Try that."

She presses the piece she tore off into Carter's fist and he opens, tries to close around it, can't quite coordinate all of that. Castle feeds him a strawberry to make up for it, and Kate tears off a couple more bites, lays them on the saucer with the fruit.

"See if he can pick up any of that."

"Oh, he can pick up food. He just can't quite get it to his mouth. Yesterday, you should have seen him with the bananas. All over his face, in his hair. I took a picture, let me show you." He shifts on one hip and pulls out his phone with one hand, tightening his arm around Carter who is smearing strawberry along the table. "Here."

She leans in, hiding the wince as her muscles remind her of who she is and where she is, how damaged and thoughtless she's being. But the photo of Carter with his face turned away from Castle's phone (he's taken to refusing all photo opportunities and then contrarily screaming for the phone once it's put away) shows her the results of what must have been a naptime experiment.

Her nap time. "Was I asleep?"

"In the chair this time."

"See, I can be taught."

"You and Carter," he smiles. But as he puts his phone away, trying to slip it out of sight before Carter notices, his eyes are anything but teasing. "I knew you could do it."

"What, sleep propped up in the chair like I'm supposed to?"

"Make it to brunch. Make it out of the apartment."

She pauses, arrested not only by the pride on his face, but also their usual table, the line still waiting outside on the sidewalk, the sunlight touching the back of Carter's head and making him appear cherubic.

"You made reservations," she says, sitting up straighter. "When?"

He shrugs.

"At least a week," she thinks out loud. "A week in advance. You would've had to. For this table, at this time. Rick."

"I might have."

"You knew I'd be going stir crazy."

He shakes his head, picks up a strawberry with two fingers and pops it into his mouth. "I knew you could do it, Kate. Nothing to do with crazy, everything to do with how strong you are. How you don't give up."

Her heart is full, but before she can say a word, Carter howls at his daddy for stealing another strawberry, writhing towards the floor.

"Here," she smiles, reaching for her baby. "My turn. I'll feed him off my plate and you finish yours."

The fact that he settles Carter in her lap without a word of caution or a note of hesitation spreads another joyful layer over her heart, like being wrapped in blankets during a snow storm or standing in full sunlight after so long without.

She kisses Carter's temple and feeds him strawberry and waffle, letting him lick powdered sugar off her thumb, a day so brilliant with possibility that she's starting to believe it won't be this hard forever.

One day soon, one day very soon, she will feel capable in the love she's been given.

 **x**


	12. December 12

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

12 December 12

 **x**

"Hey, you look beautiful, stop primping."

Castle lifts his eyes to the mirror and finds his wife leaning against the bathroom doorframe, head tilted all the way to rest flush with the wood. He lowers his arms and smooths the back of his hair, turns around. "Thanks. You look tired."

"Thanks?" she mutters.

"Oops." He moves to capture her by the hips before she can think of leaving. "Not how I meant that to come out." He softly kisses her cheek to make up for the unthinking comment.

"Showing me up in your dazzling holiday suit," she sighs, nudging her nose against his.

"Where's your dress?" he murmurs. She feels rigid and brittle in his arms, despite how good a day it's been. "Kate. Don't think you're weaseling out of this one."

"Dress is hanging up in the wardrobe," she sighs. "I'm not weaseling. It's just completely unfair that you look dashing and so crisp, while I look like I feel."

"Not true," he chides softly. "Crisp?"

"Freshly squeezed," she mumbles, doing just that.

He laughs again and catches her by the wrists, draws her hands up to his chest where he clasps them against his heart, safer territory. "I promise, we get you into that brilliant dress and you'll outshine me like the stars."

"What a hopeless romantic you are. The _stars._ "

"Besides, the baby is going to outclass us both in his pinstripe vest."

"Oh God," she laughs. "I can't believe we're doing this."

"Baby's first Christmas ought to be a little over the top. And you love it."

She whines but her teeth graze his jaw in confirmation.

"Come on," he says, lacing their fingers together to lightly tug her back towards the bedroom. "We're wildly ahead of schedule. Alexis went to all this trouble to get your dress dry cleaned."

"It is a really beautiful dress," she sighs, coasting past him towards the wardrobe door. She opens it with an over-extension, but he doesn't call her out on it. She's looking at the plastic-draped dress with something like adoration.

A tight black bodice with a full black skirt that adds incredible regality to her already impressive form. And then the tightly stitched white flowering stars with their hint of silver sparkle - those stars cascade down the dress like a waterfall.

It's beautiful. It makes her look like a dark Grace Kelly. She was supposed to wear it to an awards banquet after the baby was born but she was in too much pain to stand up back then. The dress was relegated to a storage container one day when he wasn't looking, but he found it when he was digging for Christmas decorations. He had Alexis get it cleaned and now here it is.

Finally ready.

"Here we go," he tells her softly, and reaches for the dress hanging over the door.

 **x**

It's a good thing Alexis agreed to attend this event with them. Charity functions can be boring for the young woman, especially when Callie can't make it, but she's taken charge of Carter and keeps him entertained so they can mingle. The Highline Ballroom is hosting their seventh annual Suicide Prevention Holiday Mixer, which Kate was asked to co-host last year after her work in the community as the police department's liaison.

She couldn't fulfill that role, but Rick has been determined to at least get her to the ball. He's been calling himself her fairy godmother. And even if he does say so himself, he thinks she's glad they came. Funding has dwindled in the last few years, but with the election cycle and the general tone in the city this year, tonight the Highline is packed with people who want to make a difference in the lives of those who don't see a lot of hope for themselves. The theme is safety pins which come in all sizes and shapes, most of them glittering in blues and greens, the tables strewn with take-home versions, the stage lit up with neon pins declaring this a safe space.

"Someone should be recording this, make something of it," he says, leaning in so she can hear him over the music. Swing band live on stage, and there are a few brave dancers (probably drunk). There will be no dancing for Kate, but he couldn't care less.

She's beautiful tonight. She turns her head and gives him a befuddled look, her hair cascading down her back. "What do you mean?"

"Wouldn't it mean something to you? If you saw a roomful of people all here to support you. To tell you you're not alone. To say you matter. So much that before they even knew you or what was going on in your life, they got together this night and promised to help you."

Her jaw drops. "God. Why are you not writing their call scripts?"

He might be blushing. He didn't expect that. "Call scripts. You mean the things they're trained to say when people call the hotline?"

"Yeah," she answers, sounding dazed. "You know, Rick, I look at this place tonight and I'm cataloging infractions. Not just the things I can't do, but the things that the charity organizers are doing wrong, and the fire hazards, the almost illegal quantities of alcohol they're serving-"

"Illegal?" he perks up, glancing behind them towards the bar. The high backed leather booths that circle the dance floor are good support for her but they make it impossible to see what's going on at the bar. "What kind of illegal?"

"I said almost," she says dryly, elbowing him. "It's not exactly ethical. There are kids here; it's a family event. But they're over-serving to loosen pockets, I'm sure."

"Ah, I thought so. Though the swing band seems to be keeping things light. Did you see that cute little girl with the ringlets dancing with her older brother?"

"Much older step-brother, most likely," she says, sips her champagne.

"Or half-brother. Like Alexis and Carter. But it's bringing them together. As a family."

"That's why I need you," she smiles. Her skin is smooth as gold in the lights and the curl of her lips makes his heart flip. "As a cop, Castle, all I see are the ways this is gonna be a long night for me. But not with you."

"Well, not really a long night for you," he points out, smirking. "For some other poor schmuck of a beat cop who has to corral these guys to the drunk tank to sleep it off."

"No, not me," she sighs. She sounds disappointed.

"You miss it," he smiles. He's known for a while now that she's restless with her limitations, but he's not sure she's realized why. "You live for this, Kate. It's okay to want to be at your job."

"No," she bites out. He can hear her so clearly, sharply, even over the band. "No, it's not okay to _live_ for it. I live for you, my family. I-"

"Don't live for me," he whines. "How much pressure is that?"

She elbows him again but there's a hint of a smile.

He draws his arm over her shoulders, tries not to pull on her, do any tugging. She leans in slowly, doing what she can to be close.

Rick turns his head and brushes his nose to the top of her ear, his lips close. "Don't live for me. Live for you. For what you _are_. It's the call script I'd write if they asked me. It doesn't do you any good to deny who you are, what you are, to fit someone else's idea of what's right or normal or how it should be. You want to be a cop. Be a cop."

She turns her face into him, her cheek pressing hard against his. She gives a tight little noise that he knows means she's strained something in her abs, but she doesn't back off.

"I want to dance with you," she chokes out. "That's what I want."

He touches the side of her face, very softly. "Then ask me to dance, Kate."

She pulls back just enough. Her eyes are dark pools, no light escaping. "Will you dance with me?"

He winks and slides out of the leather booth, comes around the table to her side. She pushes her champagne away and takes his proffered hand.

Rick bows low and then descends to one knee to slide his arms around her. She gives a flustered little laugh when he stands with her, but she gets to her feet in a moment, a fist around his tie.

"Champagne doing you good," he remarks, almost too low to be heard.

But Kate hears, because she's Kate, because it seems like no matter what he says these days, she finds a way to listen. "Seems to be," she allows. "Maybe you should ply me with wine every night until my body stops flinching every time I move."

"Sexy."

She laughs, leans her forehead against his chin. "My holiday spirit seems to be on a roller coaster tonight. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Carter's holding court with a gaggle of school girls. You see that? And Alexis is the puppet master. Plus we've been here only an hour and we've raised two hundred thousand dollars for the Suicide Prevention Hotline. And the music isn't half bad. And oh, don't look now, Beckett, but you're dancing."

He spins them very slowly, but they are, in fact, dancing. He's slow-walked/waltzed her to the very edge of the dance floor, not even on it, and it seems the champagne and his voice have wrought miracles.

Kate lets out a long breath, head bowing. "I'm not a cop, Castle." Her chin lifts, her eyes meet his. "I'm a captain."

He cheers. And she laughs. And she really does look so beautiful.

 **x**


	13. December 13

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **13 December 13**

 **x**

'The North Pole' at the indoor food court on Fifth Avenue is dazzling with Christmas. It's almost too much.

Well, it would be too much if Kate weren't entirely in love with her eleven month old son, who - for once in his life - is stunned into silence by the display around him. Castle is letting Carter stand on the wooden table where they've camped out with their stuff, and Alexis and Callie are somewhere in the crowd getting hot chocolate for everyone. Martha is sitting regally at the head of the table, holding court with Jim, but the grandparents' eyes keep straying for the baby.

There is something magical about it. How good he's being. Castle has him braced by the hips to keep him from falling off the table, even though he would probably be fine. Carter's face is lit by the fifteen foot Christmas tree directly behind them in the center of the food court's space, and she sees the wash of pink on his eyelashes and cheeks begin to shift to blue.

His mouth is open, his eyes absorbed by the activity around him, and for once he doesn't have a toy car clutched in his fist. Martha made a fuss over him in his pinstripe vest from last night and a clean pair of black skinny jeans, but it was only the same noise Kate herself made over her son. Carter looks entirely too adorable, and now also somehow angelic.

"What time does our ticket say?" Castle asks her. "I might try to get him into the petting zoo first."

"It's six-thirty," she answers, lifting her eyes again to him. "A petting zoo?"

"Reindeer," he grins. His eyebrows dance.

She's too astonished to answer.

"I know," he says, smug. "I did really good on this one."

"How'd you even find this place?"

"Magic."

"Rick," she mutters, rolling her eyes. But-

"It was kind of magical. Jenny posted on instagram about this dress she bought for Sarah Grace, monogrammed, and I followed her link to the website for the woman who did it, and then there was an ad for something called Merry Market, and that led me to Bryant Park-"

"Oh," her father interrupts, leaning in to tug down Carter's vest. "We used to do that, Katie, the three of us. Bryant Park for their festivities and ice skating rink."

"Winter Village," she murmurs, smiling. "Mom always dragged me on the ice. I'm terrible at skating-"

"I don't believe it," Rick scoffs. Carter stomps a little foot and they laugh. "He doesn't either. You, not graceful? Impossible."

"Possible," she shoots back, smiling up at the baby. "Your mommy is a klutz on ice. We'll have Daddy teach you."

Carter bends his knees and babbles, dipping his head in time to the music playing over the loudspeaker. Castle chuckles and cautiously releases the baby, letting him move. But Carter wavers, pinwheels his arms, and Rick has to scoop him up.

He comes to sit beside her at the bench, his back against the table and legs sprawled out, his shoulder bumping hers. She leans in and gives Car a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "So reindeer petting first. And then pictures with Santa. I'm sad we couldn't bring Chap."

Castle's face is crestfallen for a moment. "Hey," he recovers, "I know. West Village Vet Hospital? They brought in Santa this year, donations go to Animal Haven. We can do it there."

"With Car?"

"Sure, why not? I can't imagine they'd offer photos for Chaplin and not let Carter in there."

She grins and Carter grins back at her, making a goofy face. "Perfect. Both our boys." Carter laughs and pushes a fist into his mouth, drooling around it.

"Don't let him ruin his vest," she laughs. "Though this is our second night with it, so I guess it doesn't matter." She wrinkles her nose at Carter and he cackles in response, leaning towards her so their noses brush. "Eskimo kisses for the North Pole."

"Beckett," her husband chides, "there are no Eskimos at the North Pole."

Her cheeks blaze hot. "I didn't mean-"

His eyes are twinkling like the lights around them and she slaps his shoulder for it, just in time for Alexis and Callie to show up with to-go trays of coffee and hot chocolate. Callie shakes her head at them. "I'm sure he deserved that. Here are your orders, everyone. Alexis, tell them what we saw."

Alexis, flushed and wearing a fuzzy cream sweater, takes Carter out of Castle's arms and cuddles him while she speaks. "Hey, cutie. We saw the coolest thing. The whole second floor is dedicated to the elves' workshop where you can make your own toys. Kinda like build-a-bear."

"And," Callie stresses, passing out coffee, "the best part? It's a then-and-now set up. On one side are the old wooden work benches and mallets and toys that require, you know, hand painting and hand-stuffing. And on the other side is the futuristic shop with computers and robots and animatronics."

Jim scowls, opening his mouth to, no doubt, deride the lack of holiday cheer in robots and computers, but Castle is already excited. "Wow. That is so cool. Do they have an assembly line kind of thing or do you interact with a program to put together your toy?"

Alexis plops down on the other side of the table with her arms around Carter. "It's a program, touch screen, and you can choose things like lasers or frilly bows or whatever it is you're building."

Kate quietly lays her hand on her Dad's arm, smiles at him. He chuckles softly and shakes his head, giving it up. The Castles love Christmas and they love weird gadgets, so a combination of the two is going to be irresistible rather than irreverent.

"We should do the workshop," she tells Rick, bumping his shoulder where he's still sitting backwards beside her. "You'd love it even if Carter has no idea. You let him play with a mallet _or_ a touch screen and he'll be happy."

Castle's grin is feral, sending a dart of lust through her. "You're so good to me," he murmurs, and leans in to kiss her. "Mm, caramel something."

"In my coffee," she laughs, reaching up to skim two fingers at his jaw. Clean shaven and sharp-scented - and on her own tongue too. "You taste like aspen and pine."

He chuckles. "Aftershave, sorry. I know you hate to taste it."

"Too close to your lips," she chides softly. "Just keep it on your cheeks, Rick, and I won't have trouble. I certainly love the scent."

"Don't I know it," he grins. "But even on my cheeks, you can't help but nibble."

"Nibble," she huffs. "I simply like to touch my tongue to your-"

"Oh, God," Alexis groans. "Carter, this is what you're in for, the rest of your life. They have no _filter_ these days. They used to be so much better."

Kate laughs, but she catches the look on her father's face and realizes, yeah, okay, maybe they aren't as private as they were in the past. "Just his aftershave, Alexis. Nothing you can't hear."

"Yes, but _should_ I hear it?" She covers Carter's ears with her hands and makes a mock horrified face. "Should _the baby_?"

"Alright, alright," Castle says, swinging around to put his legs under the table. "You're so amusing. Let's break up the party and head upstairs to the elves' workshop. Kate, you coming?"

When she hesitates, it's Alexis who jumps in, earnestness on her open face. "There's an elevator, Kate. And lots of chairs upstairs. We might have to wait in line some, but you'll be able to sit."

His daughter's concern makes her heart melt. "I'm coming. Wouldn't miss it."

 **x**

It's Rick's turn with the baby, and he cradles Carter in one arm as he encourages Kate forward with the other. He wants her in on this.

She tries to shrug him off but he can see where her torso is tightening up. Two nights out in a row might be too many. Carter squeals and pulls back into Rick's chest as the reindeer's head swings his way, and a thick tongue comes out to lick its lips, around its teeth.

Kate laughs and leans in against Rick's shoulder. "He's sticking his tongue out at you, baby." She taps Carter's knee and smooths down his skinny jeans. "You just gonna take that?"

"Come on, Car, show Mommy you're not afraid of Santa's reindeer." Rick steps up against the fake wooden fence and nudges the baby towards the animal. The reindeer shifts on his feet and snorts like a horse, and Carter squeals again, turning his face into Castle's chest.

Kate reaches out a hand and smooths her fingers over the reindeer's nose. But Carter gasps. Everyone laughs, Jim chuckling harder when the baby stares bewildered at them.

"It's okay," Jim offers. "Look at your mama petting the reindeer. What's it feel like, Katie?"

"Kind of soft," she says, a little shrug. "Come on, Car. You know you want to."

Alexis comes in at Rick's side and lays her hands on the top rung of the fence. Another reindeer comes up to inspect them, shuffling through the hay spread out on the floor. "Isn't it weird to see reindeer on the bottom floor of a food court mall?"

"Little weird," he admits. From his other side, Kate is cajoling Carter, trying to guide his hand towards the reindeer. The head lowers and the antlers knock into the baby's fingers. Carter gasps again and lets out a squeak, like his voice has been stolen by the brush with the animal.

"Here, try this," Callie says, appearing suddenly at Alexis's elbow. She holds out carrot sticks. "You can buy them down the way. Car-ter, look. Feed him." She holds one out and two more reindeer come out of their cozy little shed to nudge up against the fence. The first one munches with great flat teeth like a horse, and Callie feeds it expertly, flattening her palm when those teeth get to the end.

"Whoa," Castle mutters to his wife. "Maybe just..."

"Aw, come on." Kate takes a carrot from Callie and wraps Carter's hand around it. "Let's feed these hungry guys. It'll be fine."

His mother tsks something at his back but Castle helps Kate reach out with both of their hands guiding their son's, and the baby squeals as the reindeer gets close. The rest bunch in close and lips move around those great teeth, a tongue catches Carter's fingers and the baby laughs hysterically, squirming back into Castle's chest. He's so focused on keeping those teeth away from their fingers that he misses it.

"Wow," Kate croaks.

Castle lifts his head. Another reindeer has come out of the shed, this one a brilliant white, its fur thick and textured, its head a dusky brown, antlers two-tone and fading to grey at the tips.

"Wow," he echoes.

Carter squeaks.

The white reindeer tosses its head and the others shuffle at the fence, subtly making room.

"Callie," Castle whispers. "You have any more?"

"Yeah, yeah," she says back quickly. Another carrot passes across the family, Rick takes it from Jim just as the old white beast approaches. Carter is about to hyperventilate in Castle's arms, but at the same time, he's leaning out for it too.

"Hey, old man," Kate murmurs, and she's leaning the same as the baby, her hand reaching out to pet the shaggy hide. "He's so soft. Wow."

"Mum-mum-muh," Carter babbles, straining now to get closer. Rick holds out the carrot for the big guy and the reindeer delicately pulls his lips back from his teeth and nips at the top. The carrot is gone in seconds, disappearing before Rick even knows it's happening.

"Wow," he echoes. While the reindeer chews, his jaw working like a cow's, side-to-side, Carter practically climbs the fence, throwing both arms around the shaggy neck and hugging tightly.

"Oh God," Martha intones. But Carter is squeezing, his face against the fur, and Kate is right there, petting the beast's neck, and Castle has a good grip on the boy.

The reindeer takes it placidly, chewing his carrot to the very last of it, and when he's done, he still stands there, tongue exploring his teeth and the blunt head of his own nose, as if he's used to this.

"Okay," Rick says slowly. "Magic reindeer, I believe."

Alexis gives a little giggle. "Who needs Rudolph?"

 **x**

When their number flashes on the LED board, her family flutters like disturbed geese, squawking orders and gathering coats and bags of Christmas cheer. Castle carries their little man of the hour, the baby already looking tired as he chews on a tree-shaped teething ring. He's drooling all down his vest, and Kate tries to pat it dry with a diaper cloth as they head for the elevator again.

"Here we go, Kate." She turns just as the elevator doors open, and the exchange of people getting off takes a moment before they can get on. With her back to the metal, she finds a moment to brace herself, trying to focus long enough to pay attention.

Her chest hurts, but it doesn't burn. It's the good ache of overworked muscles, and not the sharp pull of incisions opening up, healing being undone.

She thinks.

Castle shifts the baby and Carter tilts into her, rubbing his face into her shirt. She kisses the top of his head and cups her hand at his nape. "Tired, baby?"

"I think he wants his mommy," Castle says softly. "You doing okay?"

"Tired myself," she admits, smiling at him. "I'm okay."

"Last stop for today, promise."

"We're good," she tells him, smoothing the fine wisps of hair at Carter's neck. They're curling up again, soft and light. She stands closer to Rick to let the baby cuddle into her, but the elevator comes to a sliding stop and the doors open. "Hey, Car, we're here. You ready to see Santa?"

"Mama," he pouts.

"Mom's right here," Castle tells the boy. "Come on, let's follow her."

Kate leads the way, her father at her side and giving her the occasional bracing support as they make their way through the crowd. She can hear Carter whimpering for her from Castle's arms, but it's mostly complaint rather than real sadness.

Once the hall clears, Kate can see where the event coordinator's efforts have outdone themselves. The whole place looks like a gingerbread house with elaborate white frosting and colorful gum drops. Wooden signs are tacked to large candy-cane-striped poles guiding the way towards Santa's throne room.

And it really is a throne room. Castle whistles as they step into the line snaking through the elaborately decorated former conference space. "Wow. It's like the North Pole's version of _Game of Thrones_."

She laughs, shifting on her feet to ease the ache just under her ribs. The line is tightly folded on itself at the back of the room, roped off with red velvet and more of those candy-cane poles. Just past the line is the photographer's set-up housed inside what's supposed to be a chimney with an elaborate fireplace. Because of its position, the throne itself is blocked from view, but she can see the two massive Christmas trees on either side, decorated in velvet ribbons and gold balls, delicate garland in big loops.

When their number is checked by an elf who looks more like something out of _Lord of the Rings_ (Castle gives her an eyebrow and nudge when the elf scans their ticket), they pass through the initial line and into the rest of the room.

Red brocade draperies line the side walls, gold tassels, each depicting another night of Christmas. Two more Christmas trees with twinkling white lights and pale cream and gold decor are standing sentinel at the entrance to the main line, and as they pass, Carter reaches out and touches a dove with a faint _ooh._

"Hey, Dad!" Alexis giggles. "They have your Nutcrackers."

"Oh God, they do," Kate laughs, spotting the toy soldier nutcrackers on either side of the main throne. "I wouldn't let him put those up in the apartment."

"There's no room for it," Martha commiserates. "What about the toy train?"

Castle makes a face. "It scared Chaplin. He barked and chased it for a minute. Until it swung back around from under the tree and scared him. Then he went and hid in the bedroom. So I dismantled it. I thought Carter might try to put it in his mouth anyway."

"What about the elf village you always set up-"

"Carter did put that in his mouth," Kate offers, biting her lip to keep from smiling at Caste's melodramatic distress. "Next year, babe. He'll be older."

"Might still be trying to eat everything," Callie says cheerfully.

They laugh, but the line is moving. Now Kate can see the 'throne', a huge red velvet upholstered chair with filigree legs and brass-studded arms. The reds inside Santa's throne room are the deep and rich tone of near-maroon, while the gold accents make it seem all very sober and serious.

With the numbering system and the tickets, the wait isn't bad. There's only one family ahead of them, who, it turns out, are watching their two girls confess their sins to Santa. _And I wrote my name on the wall but it was washable so that's really okay, right?_ Castle keeps chuckling and repeating their tallies on the naughty list, but Kate thinks it's pretty cute.

Both girls in their fluffy dresses and their hair pulled back in barrettes seem iconic of the season, and when they finally hop off Santa's lap, their eyes really do glow. They give Santa kisses and shy thank-yous before running back to their large extended family, grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles. They're ushered to one side to deal with the necessities of payment and pictures, and a smartly dressed elf much like the first one approaches Castle.

"Will this be the whole family or-?"

Kate tugs on Rick's elbow, shakes her head at him. He gives a half-shrug. "We're gonna try the baby by himself."

"And his name?"

"Carter," Rick offers, following the elf-woman towards the elaborate dais where Santa waits with white-gloved hands on his knees. The large man offers a _ho ho ho_ that has Carter going still in Rick's arms.

Kate steps forward, following the red carpet up, and she stands at Rick's side as he lowers the baby to Santa's waiting lap.

It hits her again how bizarre a tradition this is, offering young children to a stranger's hands, a stranger's lap. What a fascinating, crazy world they live in, where traditions are so normalized no one stops to question, where two people can be shot in their own home and yet still be handing over their baby to an unknown man dressed in a disguise.

But Carter is fascinated by the white beard. When Santa chuckles and pats Carter's knee, he startles and squawks at his parents, as if he didn't expect the Santa to move. Santa grips him around the waist and Carter stiffens.

Kate pushes on Castle, and they both back up. "Hey, baby, can you smile for a picture?"

Carter's mouth wobbles.

Santa pats his back and smooths a white gloved finger down Carter's nose, one of Kate's tricks too. The baby startles and his eyes droop, his body relaxing into the red suit despite himself. "There you go, young man," Santa says, and his voice is deep and rich. "We can do this, can't we? You're going to be just fine."

Kate and Rick back up to the edge of the red carpet, waiting. She can hear the click and whirr of multiple cameras hidden in the fake fireplace, but her eyes are on Carter. He's staring back at them, as if he can't quite comprehend what's going on but he's too worn out to move.

"Hey, Carter. Car," Castle calls gently. "Can you smile for us?"

Carter stares.

Kate turns and digs into the bag Castle wears slung over a shoulder. She has to fish to the very bottom, but she finds it. She tugs out the furry reindeer they bought at the petting zoo, just like the white one Carter loved on. She holds it up, waving it a little. "Hey, Car, look what I found."

Carter straightens up and beams brilliantly at her, at his new favorite toy. Kate hears the cameras clicking in rapid succession and she grins back at her son.

"Good job, Mommy," Castle breathes.

"Good job, Carter," she calls out in response, and waits just a heartbeat longer to be certain the photographer is done before stepping forward.

She hands Carter his reindeer and cups his face in her hands. She can't bend down to kiss him, but his little face turns up to hers with a special smile, all adoration and love.

"First session with a baby alone that hasn't ended with tears," Santa tells her, winking. "You got a good one."

"I really do," she sighs. Turns to look for Rick.

He's already there, scooping Carter off Santa's lap.

 **x**


	14. December 14

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **14 December 14**

 **x**

Kate sleeps away the morning.

Rick makes the executive decision to let her. She's finally back in their own bed, surrounded by the stark beauty of the iron bedstead, the pressed flowers on the wall, the ornately patterned chair. She looks untouched by the baroque setting. Her lashes are faint whispers against the pale skin of her cheeks, her lips bloodless. The vein in her forehead he traces with a thumb and she doesn't stir.

He leans down and lightly kisses an eyelid. She's not Sleeping Beauty after all, but the day calls and demands his attention.

He bundles up the baby just to take Chaplin out, putting Carter in the thick snow suit and the plaid hat with the ear flaps that velcro just under his chin. Carter kicks his feet and tries to run when Rick sets him down at the door, but he falls over and goes rolling, giggling breathlessly. Chaplin licks his face and woofs softly, and Rick collects his silly son, smiling at the laughter.

He clips the leash to Chap's harness and they head out the door, leaving the lights dim for Kate and the apartment twinkling with Christmas.

Outside, the wind is bitter and singing through his nostrils, his sinuses, icing his lungs. His ears hurt, but Carter's cheeks are pink. He'll have to pay attention to his liitle fingers, and he warms them against his neck as he walks, kisses a tiny palm. Chaplin is at ease at his side, the leash around Castle's forearm where he holds Carter, manageable so long as the dog doesn't bolt.

Castle takes the boys to the park a few blocks down, tosses away the plastic doggy bag in the trash can at the corner. He unclips Chaplin's leash and lets him into the dog run, and then he sets Carter on his feet. "Have at it, kiddo."

Carter tries walking on the uneven ground, and if Castle thought he could keep the kid close because of the obstacle of the puffy suit, he was dead wrong. Carter pushes on through sheer determination alone, so much like his mother it's scary.

Rick leaves the gate to the dog run and follows the baby around as he investigates his world. Carter is picking up sticks and pinecones, poking at bricks and loose pavement, crushing a brown leaf, trying to put dirt in his mouth.

"No, no," he chides. "Dirt is gross. Can you race, Carter? Zoom, zoom." He tries to engage Carter in a foot race, but the baby is too interested in the different textures of the park to go running with him.

Castle points to a tree, stooping low so Carter will see him and share his attention. "Look, Car. Look at that tree. Want to go over there?" And hopefully away from the dirt. The texture of the bark, the potential for peek-a-boo might be great enough to keep him entertained. "Let's go see that tree."

Carter looks, gives the tree a thorough once-over, but then suddenly dashes for it. His puffy suit trips him up and Castle has to quickly scoop him up, uses his momentum to keep them going and run for the tree, sillying Carter until he's forgotten the almost-fall.

"Oooh," Carter says, pointing up.

"Yeah, wow, look at all those branches. Oh. Hey, there's a bird's nest up there. Is that what you see?" The pointing thing started about two months ago and Castle still gets a kick out of it. Kate read him an article about joint attention and prelinguistic gestures, how much complex meaning is in each one of Carter's elaborate facial expressions and waving arms, and Rick has been somewhat obsessed ever since.

"Look at all those leaves in the nest," he goes on, craning his neck to look. "It's huge. I wonder what kind of bird lives in Manhattan that makes a nest like that."

"Buh!"

"Bird?"

Carter grunts and jabs a finger in Castle's chest.

"I don't know what that means kid, but I think it's a 'keep moving' nudge." He sets Carter on the brown grass and follows after him as he tries walking on his own in that snow suit. His cheeks are blotcy red, his nose is running again, and Castle didn't bring the diaper bag.

Yeah, maybe it's time to go. "Hey, Car. Do you see Charlie in the dog run?"

Carter lifts his head, tracking Castle's pointing finger with his eyes and finally landing on Chaplin. And then Carter opens his mouth and _barks._ "Woof!"

Castle collapses in laughter beside him, wheezing for breath in the cold. "Oh my God, do that again. Carter. Can you-"

Carter does it again, _woof,_ yipping a little like Chaplin does when Carter pulls his tail. Castle is struggling to get at his phone underneath the layers of coat and sweater, and when he pulls it out, Carter turns his head away.

"Oh, no, come on. Bark for me one more time. For Mommy, Carter. Hey, Car, can you do it again for Mommy?" He's recording now, ready to freeze this moment and share it with her when they get home. "Car-ter. Hey, race car, where's our puppy? Where's Chaplin?"

A sly slide of Carter's eyes back to him, though his face is still turned away from the phone's camera. "Woof!"

"Yeah, there it is, there you go." He lowers the phone but keeps it recording and it tricks Carter into looking at him again. "Is Chaplin your best friend?"

Carter yips high, and then sets up a little chant with the noise, like he's impressed with himself for making it in the first place.

Castle records it all. "You hear that often enough, don't you? What a goofball."

The baby throws up both hands in the air and barks one last time before running away to circle the tree.

Castle groans and rubs both hands briskly for warmth. "Come on, it's freezing. Let's collect our puppy and get on home."

He hauls Carter into his arms and stands up once more, striding back for the dog run. They're not the only ones in the park, but Chaplin is alone in the fenced off area, and Castle leans over the gate to offer his fingers.

Chaplin barks and comes running, tail wagging. Carter leans into the fence and shivers at the touch of cold metal, but he tries out his bark, confusing his noises a little, coming out with something cracked.

Chaplin woofs in response and Castle rubs the dog's ears with one hand, watching the two interact. "You're gonna teach my kid dog language before we can teach him human language, aren't you, Charlie?"

"Woof, woof," Carter says, bobbing his body in time to his own sounds.

Castle laughs and kisses his son's cold cheek. "Come on, Carter. Let's go home and wake Mommy. We can show her you've learned a new word."

 **x**


	15. December 15

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **15 December 15**

 **x**

"We don't have a mantel," Kate sighs.

Rick turns and she catches sight of his hair sticking up on top of his head, still slouched in plaid pajama pants, a navy v-neck t-shirt, and another plaid shirt pulled on over that.

She bites her lip and lays her head on the pillow, curling in. "You look cute."

"What?"

"Mm, we don't have a mantel. For stockings."

He hefts the bag back to the top of the wardrobe and his t-shirt rides up a little. She can see the outline of his hipbone where the pajama pants have slung low. He went to the boxing ring last night and she's reminded of his angles again, the lines cut into his frame from heavy work.

He shoves the bag into the narrow shelf at the top, pushing it until he can close the door. "Not like I really have to hide it. Carter will never know the difference even if he did find his Christmas presents."

She smiles and pats the mattress. "It's cold, jump back in bed until he wakes."

"He is awake. I just turned the monitor down."

She cranes her neck and checks, and sure enough the monitor is off. She sighs and slumps down. "So he's awake. Was he complaining or-"

"Nah. He talks to his invisible friends. And Chaplin is in there with him."

Kate closes her eyes on a smile, feels the bed dip and then Castle crawling back in with her. He's careful with the jostling, slides an arm under her pillow and a knee between hers. She nudges into him until his chin brushes her nose.

"The loft has a mantel," she murmurs.

"Hm."

"Where are Alexis and Callie-?"

"At Callie's."

"Her parents?"

"No. They'll be on a cruise. I don't know. I think they'll both come here Christmas Eve."

She opens her eyes, finds the bare skin above the waistband of his pajama pants with her fingers. "Or we could all do Christmas in the loft."

He freezes.

"Just..." She hesitates, tries to recall the look on Dr Burke's face or the series of questions that brought her here in the first place. "I thought it would be nice. It wouldn't be like it's barren and cold, there's still our furniture. And we can set up a tree and the stockings on the mantel."

"Kate..."

"It's empty," she sighs.

He winces. "Does that bother you?"

"Does it bother you?" she parries. He shrugs and the shirt rides up a little more. She presses her fingers to his back, the strong cords of muscle and tendon and then the hard line of his spine. "Castle. Does the loft being empty bother you?"

"No. Actually, the opposite."

She sighs. This was supposed to be easy. Dr. Burke said it would be easy. "The opposite how?"

"No one else in my-" He growls and slides his arm to her back, bracing her. "My home."

"Oh." She studies his face minutely. "Walking over your grave."

He shivers, scowls. "That's a distinctly morbid way to put it, Kate." And then his forehead crashes down into hers. "But yeah. That's the - it was always weird. Strangers living in my home."

She doesn't even find offense in the _my_ of it all. The loft is where he raised Alexis, where he fumbled and graced his way through creating his own family for his practically motherless daughter. For him to open that world to her and invite her inside at all has always seemed like a gift, the most trusting and warm-hearted thing he could have done for her.

"Honestly," he goes on quietly, "when you said just leave it unoccupied for a while, it felt like a burden was lifted. And I don't know why."

She runs the backs of her fingers against his jaw, their noses brushing, too close to see him. But she can feel the anxiety he's carried and how it unknots as he talks. Not even boxing last night could do that. "Leave it alone then, Rick. There's no need to rent it anymore."

He nods, his body tangled with hers at so many points that it feels like being one animal. One breathing mess of emotions and stressors and traumas and joys.

But they're not. And as their therapist keeps reminding her, Rick doesn't think like she does, and she doesn't respond the same ways he does. It isn't necessarily the paperwork and contracts and having strangers in his home that bothers him so much. This might not be the bottom of the issue.

She tilts her chin up and gently kisses his mouth, scoots back on the pillow to look at him. When his eyes open, she tries very carefully to say it right. "Rick? What if we moved back at the new year."

 **x**

It's not a fight.

He's not fighting with his wife who just had surgery to repair damage done to her body by delivering _his_ kid nearly eleven months ago because he wanted to make his dreams come true.

He's not.

He won't.

"Kate, leave it."

She follows him into the baby's room and leans a shoulder against the door frame. Her arms cross over her torso. "I'm not leaving it. You need to talk to me."

"I'm not doing this right now," he growls. From the crib, Carter's happy smile twists into a frown, eyes filling with the preemptive strike of tears. "Not you, not you, Car. Mommy and I are having a conversation."

"Except someone isn't talking," she says from behind him.

"Except it's stupid to talk about," he coos at Carter, lifting him from the crib and kissing his cheeks. "Don't cry. Mommy is right-"

"Aren't I always?"

"-you're such a drama queen." He gives her look, wishing she would just let it go, and he carries Carter to the changing table. "Hey, kiddo. Did you sleep well? You've been so busy this morning."

"Da-da!"

"That's me," he grins, bending low over the baby to kiss the hand that reaches for him. "Let's change your stinky diaper, whew."

Carter screws up his face in imitation and they both laugh. Rick finds one of the squeeze toys he keeps hidden in the open shelf of the changing table and he gives it to Carter for a distraction while he pops the snaps of the cloth diaper.

He can hear Kate's gathering storm behind him, and he needs to change the subject. "Hey, did you hear about the interview Callie had? Alexis was upset."

Kate sighs. "Because it's in New Zealand, I know. But-"

"Because it's-?" He shakes his head, glances at her. "Not that. No. She's upset because Callie never told her about it. She found out when the guy called the apartment. It was the first she'd heard of it."

"Did Callie get the job?" Kate says, lifting up from the door frame.

"No, they don't know yet." He narrows his eyes at her, turns his head back to Carter. "Did you know about it?" He knows the anger is in his voice. "Was that the day she left here and you were alone with him?"

"Rick, I can manage-"

"No," he hisses back, trying not to startle Carter. "No. I'm not talking about you being alone with him. I'm asking if you _knew_ she had an interview with the research team."

"Yes. She went there from here."

"God damn it, Kate." He swipes at Carter's bottom and has to rein himself in, nostrils flaring as he bites back another curse. She's killing him this morning. One thing after another.

He is _not_ having a fight with his wife.

"Why are you yelling at me for _this_?"

"Seriously," he croaks, snapping the clean cloth diaper over Carter and standing him up. "We're not doing this."

"No. I want to know. You're picking a fight with me at every turn, and I want to know why."

"Me? I'm picking a fight? I told you I didn't want to talk about the loft right now-"

"Then _fine_. Talk to me about Callie. About why Alexis gets to be _upset_ that her girlfriend has such a wonderful opportunity-"

"She's not upset that Callie interviewed for a job, Beckett. She's upset that Callie never _told her_. Which is _so_ like someone else I know that I actually had the wild, mistrustful idea that you might have told Callie not to say anything."

"I did tell her that."

"Oh my God." He could throttle her. "Oh my God, you did not."

"Why should she upset everyone if she doesn't qualify? And she _doesn't_ qualify, Castle. She went to the interview because they asked her knowing she didn't have all her fieldwork done. It's a long shot, really. So I told her not to make waves right at Christmas, to wait until she knew more."

Castle stares at her. He can't believe she just doesn't learn.

No. Wait. He _can_ believe it.

She just doesn't learn.

 **x**

When her husband scoops up the baby and stalks out of the room, pushing past her to do it, she's more than just angry.

She's bewildered.

And that hurts worse than being simply ticked off at the man for his moodiness. Moody Castle she can totally handle, even if it does make her frustration levels rise. Moody is par for the course when the man has such a wide and deep heart that everything strikes him, one way or another.

But _this_ feels unwarranted. This feels like decades of old gripes coming back to haunt her.

And she still doesn't know why.

Kate follows him into the kitchen in silence, still struggling to get a handle on the issues swirling between them. She doesn't think his anger is really about Callie or Alexis and what might happen to their relationship if the improbable happens.

It has to be about the loft.

Callie didn't tell Alexis about the interview because it was a long shot, because Alexis worries - just like her father - and she can get herself into a state of pretty high melodrama even though she likes to think she's the level-headed one in the family. Kate simply wanted to cut down on the drama this Christmas since-

Oh, hell.

"This is because of the job in DC," she says dumbly, staring at him. "Still. This is _still_ -"

"No."

"You said 'like someone else I know.' You meant me. Because I did it first. And I told Callie to do the same."

He puts Carter in his high chair in only his diaper, buckles him in. Ignores her.

"Are you kidding me?" She scrapes a hand through her hair and stares at him. Her chest constricts, a pain zig-zagging down her side. "Okay. Alright. Burke says we - tackle problems differently, and we do. We both know that. My intention was never to have Alexis's feelings hurt or for her to be upset with Callie."

"No, you never wanted her to even find out. Or me. You act like-" He cuts himself off and his jaw works, but he turns his back on her and reaches for a banana, begins peeling it. "Never mind."

Well, obviously she's not listening to that. "And what does this have to do with the loft?"

" _Kate_."

"The DC thing is old news, Rick. Way old. That's been dealt with, and if you can't let go of that, that's your issue. We weren't even engaged then, and we were both still unclear on how to communicate what we wanted from each other. We're _past_ that. I act like - what? Like I don't have a family who are impacted by my choices? That was the fight from _then_ not now."

He shoots her a dark look and slices banana for Carter. She leans against the cooktop range and studies him.

She'll keep talking if he won't. This isn't how they work, usually she's the one reserved and unable to tease out her own feelings, but this is important. This is their _life_ together, and he's been having nightmares nearly every-

"You're afraid," she says, stunned as it strikes her the same moment she speaks it. "Rick. You're scared."

He slams the fridge and turns for Carter, dumps banana slices onto the baby's tray, sets down the milk in its bottle. Tension thrums so vibrantly in his body that even Carter is staring at his daddy.

Her heart breaks for him. "Rick." She takes his banana-slimed hands in hers and draws his arms around her waist, presses her body into his. "I wanted to cut down on the stress we had to deal with - as a family - this Christmas. Callie won't know until after the new year; it's a long process. I figured it was best to wait it out, have a wonderful holidays together, and then let everyone else in on it later. Your mother will be heartsick to have Alexis away for two years. _If_ she gets it. And you-"

He sighs, a great gust of grief that makes him slump.

"I thought, don't go borrowing trouble," she murmurs. "Today has enough of its own."

For a moment, like old times, she's holding him up even as he's holding her. And then he straightens and steps out of her arms, moves to put bread in the toaster, finish getting breakfast for Carter.

She gives him a moment, conscious of both how she herself would want to be approached about something like this but also of how different Castle is when dealing with his own issues. She puts a hip against the center island range and makes a silly face at Carter, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair.

He grins and shoves a banana into his mouth.

When the toast pops up, Kate watches Castle tear pieces off for Carter, and then she comes back to it. "Please talk to me about the loft," she says quietly. "We've been all around this subject for weeks now. You know it's pointless to resist me."

He gives her a twist of his lips for that and she knows he's trying to reassess, to bring himself back from the edge. His eyes drop to Carter. "Tell me... why you want to move again," he says roughly. "Why do you want to do that right now."

"This place isn't big enough for us, babe." She lays her hand at his shoulder. The image of him so defeated, standing with arms hanging at his sides, is almost too much. "Carter's room is our old dining room, and it's narrow and cramped. He can't play in there, and so he plays everywhere else. The surgery has really shown us up, you know. How limited we are here and how little we can get done."

He scrapes a hand down his face. "I wanted us to raise our babies there."

The loft. "I know. We still can. Like you said about Christmas this year, Carter will never know the difference. Even if we wait until he's two or three."

"The longer we... what if I can't do it? I'm having nightmares and we're not even _in_ the loft. We're off the beaten path here and I'm still paranoid about crowds, about having you and the baby out with too many strangers."

"Someone really wise told me recently that he knew I could make it. He even made reservations back when me making it didn't seem all that possible."

He sighs.

She tries a different tack. "Besides, how do you know the nightmares aren't because we're living here and _not_ at the loft, the place you've always felt secure, where you always intended to bring us home?"

Rick gives her a long look.

She squeezes his arm. "So long as you keep going to therapy, putting in the work, you _will_ get better, Rick. I promise."

His eyes burn on hers. She can see the emotion twisting in the blue, whirlpools in an ocean. He wants her to convince him; he wants so badly to go home.

She steps into him again, presses her palms to his chest, one at his heart and one at his healed wound. "You're the most determined stubborn ass of a man I've ever met." She smiles faintly and something flickers to life in him. "And you have the heart of an elephant." She waits a beat. "Among other things."

He gapes at her, a sudden laugh choked out of his throat.

She knows she has him then. "Mm. And while the last few weeks I haven't had quite the pleasure," she murmurs, lifting both eyebrows, "it's not like I could possibly lose faith in your... special qualities."

"How are you so dirty at eight o'clock in the morning."

"Only for you." She leans in and winds her arms around his waist once more, lays her cheek to the top of his shoulder. He drops his hand to the back of her head and sighs.

"What you said... about the stockings and putting up a tree in the loft? We could try it. See if I can - how it goes."

She nods against him, waiting.

"Maybe even... we weren't going to have a party this year, but if we did something small, intimate, just our family and close friends?"

"The Ryans, Javi, Lanie?" she adds. "At the loft."

"Yeah. Space there for everyone. Family and precinct family. Would that be-"

"Lovely," she fills in. "It would be lovely, Rick. And if that doesn't work out for us, then we know we need more time."

"We," he sighs.

" _We_ ," she insists. "Don't think I'm not in this with you. Love _and_ trauma."

"Sickness and health."

"Richer or poorer, for long as we both-" She stumbles to a stop, closes her eyes. "For always, Rick. Even if-"

"That's the part giving me nightmares."

"I know." And if she weren't still healing, if she didn't have incision sites that burned and scar tissue recently debrided, she would be dragging him back to bed for some life affirming sex. For _love_.

She will find a way to comfort him, to be what he needs, to stand with him in this - even if her body keeps failing her.

It's the season for miracles, after all.

 **x**


	16. December 16

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **16 December 16**

 **x**

Rick looks so proud carrying Carter in one arm and taking Chaplin by the leash with the other hand. Proud daddy. She finds it sweet and romantic and she knows that's a little silly of her, but she isn't even attempting to help it.

"They did so good," she tells him, waving the polaroid photos so they'll dry faster. Chaplin sits back on his haunches and keeps a wary eye on the other dogs inside the West Village Vet Hospital on Eighth Avenue. She scratches the top of his head, his ears. "Chap, what a good boy you are. So handsome too."

"I can't believe you found a vest like Carter's."

"Well, it barely fits," she laughs, glancing at the polaroid under her thumb. "And Carter ruined his with candy cane drool the other night, otherwise they would've matched."

"Chap does look like a little gentleman," Castle chuckles, shifting Carter in his arms. "And at least Car's second photo op with Santa is in a different outfit."

"No less handsome," she says, tugging down the baby's shirttails. "And a lot like his daddy."

"Alright, laying it on thick, Beckett. What do the pictures look like?"

"Here, this one is coming through pretty good." She hands over the top photo and he peers at the polaroid's warm tones as they seep across the black, developing right before their very eyes. The Vet Hospital's Santa Claus didn't protest to having a human in his lap rather than a pet, but he did draw Chaplin right between his knees to keep him close.

"Yeah," Castle grins. "It's a good picture. Chaplin was remarkably still."

"He looks completely at ease," she smiles, but her eyes have strayed to a pet owner now trying to make her cat sit in Santa's lap. The poor tabby is practically clawing up the red suit to get away. "He's much better behaved than a lot of these."

"The service dog over there is kinda showing them all up though," Castle says, nudging her and nodding with his chin.

She glances to the side and sees a teenaged boy with a golden retriever, perhaps a mutt or runt of the litter due to its size. The service dog wears its vest and has a special leash, and the boy has a lanyard around his neck with what looks to be a badge. Or maybe those are informational cards.

The dog is remarkably chill. Eyes blinking slowly, head following the action, he stays seated at his master's right hand, even pushing his head up into those dangling fingers from time to time as if to encourage the boy to take advantage of the comfort he provides.

"What do you think?" Castle says. "Social anxiety?"

"Autism?" she offers. "Maybe he just needs a friend."

"Dogs really are man's best friend," Castle sighs, a kind of knowing tone to his voice that makes Kate look at him. He's rubbing Chaplin's ears and scratching under the dog's chin even while he balances Carter in one arm.

He loves that dog. He may have bought it for her, but he adopted that dog for himself too. Chaplin was their dry run for parenthood, and the one who really convinced them they could do this. He's their baby herder, he's their warning, and he's their first kid, really.

She looks at the polaroid in her hand and now the image is revealed in full.

In this photo, Chaplin has his head on Santa's knee, just enough in Carter's reach so that the baby has a hand patting his nose. The camera managed to catch the blur of movement and the expression on the dog's face of quiet, adoring surrender.

She's not getting choked up over her baby and her dog. She's not.

"Come on," she says, hooking her arm through Castle's. "Time for coffee. You promised me."

"I did, and I fully intend on keeping my promises." He smiles as he straightens up from Chaplin, shifting Carter again so he can kiss her. He tastes sweet like peppermint, and he has a wide smile for her. "Take this photo from me, will ya? Put them in the bag where they won't get damaged."

She takes the polaroid and carefully slides all four into the inside pocket of the baby bag. And then she tucks her fingers into Castle's back pocket to follow him out of the Veterinary Hospital and into the night.

 **x**


	17. December 17

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **17 December 17**

 **x**

Her husband leans over her in the rocking chair and lays Carter in her arms. The baby sighs with sleepy resignation and curls into her, the pacifier in his mouth, eyes drooping. Rick cups the side of her face and kisses her. "Night," he murmurs, drops his kiss to Carter before leaving them alone.

She pushes off against the wooden floor and the rocker glides back and forth. The baby sucks on his pacifier and his fingers uncurl, curl again. He's blinking up at her. Too far gone to struggle against it, just watching her.

"Hey, Carter," she whispers. "Bedtime, sweet boy." She rocks him slowly, as much curled around him as he's curled around her. He smells like lavender from the bath.

The room is quiet. Everything is still, for once, the sounds of the city muffled, the neighbors at rest. The peace of night time and winter cold, the heavy baby on her lap, the acceptance of the unavoidable sleep.

Rick returns with the bottle, moving sure-footed through the darkened nursery to hand it to her. The moon paints his face blue. The shadows at his neck and eyes are so deep she can't tell if he's upset with her or not.

"Did you want to rock him?" she whispers. Carter reaches for the bottle with a tremulous sigh.

"No, honey. All you." He winks at her, close enough now that she can see him. "But I'll put him to bed, alright? You don't need to be carrying him."

"I won't," she promises. She probably shouldn't even be holding him like this, the weight that tugs on her.

She angles the bottle to Carter's mouth and he sucks, staring up at her. His hands take the bottle and hold it himself, slow blinks of his lashes, and she can use both arms to cradle the baby.

Rick shifts. She catches his pant pocket to keep him. "Stay in here? That way I don't have to call out for you to come get him when he falls asleep."

"Will do," he smiles. His eyes crinkle at the corners and somehow she sees his age in the way he looks at her, the regard, the tenderness. When he sinks down to the floor and leans back against the crib, she can't look away.

"Have you slept?" she murmurs. "Since... at all?"

"I've slept," he gives back. His smile is deep but his eyes slide closed. "Some."

She won't nag him about it; she knows what he's going through. Insomnia can't be controlled; it releases its claim only when it wants to. He's exhausted, and doing everything for them here, and making the holiday season special.

She feels Carter's hand over hers, curling at her finger where she can't help propping the bottle. She glances down at their son. The baby is watching her with heavy-lidded eyes, half here and half already in sleep. She curls in over him to dust a kiss to the top of his head.

When she lifts her gaze to Rick once more, she finds her husband asleep, his head tilted back and mouth open, lashes like blue lines on his cheeks.

She rocks Carter slowly, one arm balanced on the length of his belly, stroking a finger at his wrist where he flicks at the bottle. She keeps her eyes on Rick, waiting him out, and when his body begins to slump towards the floor, she pushes her foot into his calf, nudging him awake.

He startles and jerks upright, swipes at his mouth as he scans the room. His eyes fall on her and Carter and he grunts, rubs both hands down his face. "Sorry."

"Rocking him to sleep not you," she smiles.

"It's just so quiet and peaceful," he mumbles. "You hum. Kinda singing? It's hypnotic."

She didn't realize. "Mm, well."

"Had a busy day."

"You don't have to make excuses," she says softly. "You can be exhausted, babe."

"I'm not." He shakes his head like a dog. "Yeah, I am. I'm exhausted. Did Ryan call you?"

"We talked," she promises. "It's all set up."

"I gave him the number of my event planner."

"He said that," she smiles, glancing down at Carter. The baby is struggling now, a losing battle. His lashes fall. "You did a good thing, Rick."

"Now we're kinda stuck going."

"I think it's fine. I'll be fine, I mean. I was the one who slept all morning. Again."

He smiles and leans forward, drawing his knees up and hooking his arms around them. "You were snoring in the chair."

"Shut up," she whispers. Smiling back at him. "I'll have the morning to sleep. So it will be just fine."

She looks down at Carter, her son cradled in her arms, his mouth slack around the bottle. Time to give up the baby. He's warm and too heavy and finally asleep.

Kate angles the bottle away from his mouth, leans slightly to one side to put it on the floor. But Rick comes to his knees and takes the bottle from her before she can stretch herself, and then he sinks back to his feet, watching them.

She touches her thumb to the corner of Carter's mouth where the milk has collected, lifts her thumb to her own mouth, sucking it clean. Castle clears this throat and shoots her a look, and it's kind of cute how bothered he is by that. She leans in and kisses her baby, whispers good night into that soft smell of bathtime and bedtime.

Rick takes Carter off her lap and cradles him close, a kiss of his own in goodnight before he stands and turns for the crib. Kate watches him bend over and lower the boy to the thin mattress, draw the elephant blanket up his back.

She sees him smooth a hand over the baby's head, a sweep of fingers at his nape, before he lifts up. Both hands on the crib railing, watching their son in sleep. The moon is silver and grey by degrees, spilling light through the window so that everything glows, hallowed.

"Goodnight, Car," Rick whispers. "We love you."

 **x**


	18. December 18

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **18 December 18**

 **x**

When the knock comes at the door, Kate looks up from the puzzle, but she doesn't seem too bothered. "It's probably Ryan," she says, nudging the duck puzzle piece into place. Carter applauds and she winks. "He probably is needing help for Sarah Grace's thing tomorrow."

It's not, but Rick doesn't want to ruin the surprise. He scrambles to his feet and ducks Carter's head as he passes. "Stay with Mommy." There's a funny flutter in his chest as he approaches the door, and the fact that Kate feels she needs to reassure him about strangers at the door, especially when Castle _knows_ who's on the other side - yeah, that's not a good sign.

Even Chaplin, as he follows along behind, seems to expect trouble. Or thinks Castle will want the back-up.

Wow, he has really become that paranoid, hasn't he? Traumatized, Dr Burke says. A little skittish, he likes to call it. What it means is that everyone in his family thinks he nees help being normal, and that's depressing.

But the kid is waiting on the other side of the door when Castle opens it. Just as he said he would be. Hesitant, he glances down at the dog, takes a step back. "I... whoa. That guy is fierce, Mr Castle."

"What?" He jerks his head to Chaplin and finds the dog with his hackles raised, pressing in against his thigh. "No, no. Charlie, chill out." He pushes Chaplin aside with a foot and the dog stands down. "We're good. Parker?" He offers a hand to the kid, not really a kid. He has to be twenty-two, twenty-three. "Thanks for coming."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, bobbing his spiky-haired head. Parker has three piercings in his left ear, one of those a gauge, but he's wearing a thin black tie and those Buddy Holly black glasses. "I really - I should be thanking you. I've been trying to get in touch with you guys for a long time."

"I heard," Castle says. This must be the kid's nicest clothes. Black skinny jeans and a white button up, black tie, high-top converse. His leather jacket looks exactly like one of Kate's. "Detective Ryan says you're persistent."

"Hey, Rick, who is it?" Kate calls out then. Parker blushes bright red, all the way to his ears, his scalp, and he pats his spikes nervously.

"It's someone here for you," he says, raising his voice. "His name's Parker. Parker Stewart."

"Who?"

He gestures for Parker to follow him, nudges Chaplin out of the way. The dog circles Parker once before bounding ahead to the office where Kate is still on the floor. Chap noses hard at her neck so she laughs - and it means she's also momentarily distracted from their entrance.

She finally sees Parker, frowns. "Rick."

He comes to help her up, even though he knows she hates looking weak in front of people. Kate gives him a half-scowl, but she's staring at the kid, her grip on Rick's arm tightening as he hauls her to feet. "This is Parker Stewart," he says. "He called the Twelfth looking for you, and Esposito and Ryan called me."

"Parker," she says slowly. "Stewart?" Faint familiarity washes through her eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, wiping his hands on his jeans and offering her one to shake. "My mom - uh - she was-"

"Jennifer Stewart," Kate croaks, the light bulb going off. She looks at Rick.

He leans down and picks up Carter from the floor, cradles him against his chest. "Let's sit."

"Rick," she hisses. He ignores that and loops his arm around her waist, guides her down to the couch to sit with him.

"Uh, Detective Beckett?" Parker says. He shifts on his feet and then takes a seat on the chair. "Um, I mean, Captain Beckett. Sorry." He rubs his hands over his gangly knees. "I guess you remember me? I was three years old when my mom was killed."

"I - remember you." She opens her mouth, closes it. Glances to Rick again, then back to the kid. "Your parents were divorced when she was killed?"

"You remember, wow. Yeah. Over a year. My mom had left us, basically. So I didn't really know her."

Kate looks speechless. Castle would feel bad for ambushing her like this, but she needs it. And she wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise.

"Yeah, uh," Parker blushes again. "I remember you came to my dad's house in Jersey, about eight years ago? And you told us about the guy who killed her. That was... the first time I really heard anything about her. First I knew anything really."

"You visited the families without me?" Castle says. He talked only briefly with Parker about this; he had no idea the full story.

Kate shoots Castle a look, turns her attention back to Parker. "You sat with your dad on the couch, you were about fifteen?" At Parker's nod she nods in turn. "You didn't say a word the entire time I talked. Your dad - I guess he wanted to forget it had ever happened. But you... I didn't mean to drop that kind of bomb on you."

"After you left, Dad told me all kinds of stories about her. Explained who she was, what she - what she was doing. I always thought, she left me, you know? But there was a lot more to it. You coming, telling us what had happened... It was a pivotal moment in my life. Opened my eyes."

Kate just stares. Carter whines in his arms, so Castle grabs the pacifier from the side table and sticks it in the baby's mouth to keep him quiet. He doesn't want anything to interrupt this.

Kate eyes drift from Carter to the grown-up boy in their living room. "Rick said you've been trying to reach me?"

Parker seems to grow a little taller at that. His spine is a little straighter, there's animation on his face, less nervousness. "Yeah, yeah I have been. After you left that day, I couldn't get her out of my mind. My mom. I'd always dismissed her. She'd abandoned me; I didn't need her. Right? But there were all these things I hadn't realized I'd been thinking about, wondering. I talked to my dad, really talked, and he gave me my aunt's address. My mom's sister."

"Jamie," Kate says softly. "I talked to her as well."

"I know," Parker answers, bobbing his head. The too-cool hispter vibe has disappeared, making way for the young man's earnestness. "She told me you did. She told me everything. Not just about the guy who killed her, but about her, my mom. What she was like. How much we're the same. I lived with Aunt Jamie, went to high school here, still do live with her while I'm at the art institute. I feel... it's like I'm getting the chance to know her, and I don't think I would've even _cared_ if you hadn't come to my dad's that day."

For a moment, Kate watches the baby in Castle's lap. He wonders if she's thinking about what it would be like for Carter, losing his mother young, so young, not knowing her. He really hopes that's not the message she's getting from this. He wanted to give Kate a chance to hear it from the kid's own mouth, what her work has done for victims' families, what her compassion has accomplished. Not the paranoia, not the fear that one day she really won't come back.

Parker glances to him for help, but he doesn't have anything. It needs to be organic, in Parker's own words.

The young man scratches the back of his neck. "Look, if you hadn't been there that day, told me that stuff, my dad would've never said a word. I'd go on feeling like the cuckoo in the nest, the one who doesn't belong, my stepmom and my half brother and sisters... I just never fit. And I didn't understand why."

"Parker," Kate murmurs. "I'm sorry about your mother, what you've gone through, losing her at that age-"

Parker shakes his head. "Yeah, I wondered about her, about everything. How it might have been different. Would I have gone to live with her when all the shit hit the fan for me? Would she have really understood who I was and really, you know, _got_ me? But I have Aunt Jamie, I have these stories about her, all because of you. I _do_ have her. And the thing is, I have her because of you. So, uh, a few years back, I heard about you getting shot at a funeral-"

"Oh," she says, her mouth barely moving.

"I went to the station but they wouldn't tell me anything. I wanted to - I don't know. I feel like I owe you so much. I was a real piece of work when I was fifteen. Fucked up, you know?" A sudden horror crosses the kid's face and he stares at Carter. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I just said-"

"He's fine," Castle says, smiling to ease the tension in the room. He bounces Carter on his knee to hold the baby's attention. "He has no idea. You said you're at the art institute?"

"Ha, yeah, that's our nickname for the Cooper Union," Parker answers, grinning. "Art, architecture, and engineering. I owe that to you, Captain Beckett. For putting me on this path. I don't know if you - my dad and I constantly fought, still do. I'd run away to the city for weeks at a time. I just never felt like I fit in anywhere. It always felt like my family didn't want me."

"You're living with your Aunt Jamie?" Kate says, like she can't quite process everything. Rick remembers that afternoon with Jamie Stewart so well, a blonde in her forties, telling her about Bracken. Her hands shook during the whole interview, and she kept staring at Kate as if she were speaking some unfathomable language.

"Yeah, she's stuck with me," Parker answers with a little laugh. "She's been great. I can't even imagine not having her. She's been like a mom to me."

"When did you leave your dad's?"

"In high school, for good," he nods. "But I needed to. We're much better at being father and son when we don't live together."

"Rick," she murmurs. He doesn't know what that look means, but he can see how this has wiped her out, just a few minutes' conversation. She presses the heel of her hand to sternum, regarding the kid intently. "Parker, I'm so glad you came. This has been - a good reminder."

Parker rubs two fingers on a palm; Rick can see callouses, old paint, black marks around his nails. Parker bobs his head. "Thank you for letting me come, say what I wanted to say. I just - my aunt still talks about the day you and Mr Castle came to her apartment and told her you had arrested William Bracken. She was so impressed with you, how you never quit on them. I figured, you know, you've been shot at twice because of this, and - uh - you too, Mr Castle - and that ought to be acknowledged somehow. Someone should say thank you."

"Your aunt used to call us every year on the anniversary of her sister's - your mother's death," Kate says quietly. "She would speak to my captain; he said she didn't want anyone to forget her sister."

"And you didn't." Parker picks at a callous at the base of his knuckle, his eyes downcast. "When I heard you both were shot, I went to the hospital. People were saying it was - that it had to do with Bracken being killed in jail, so I went. I went." His eyes lift to them, stray down to Carter. "I don't know what I thought I could do. I sat in the waiting room. I know that's kind of stalker of me, but I felt like if I could be there..."

"I talked to my daughter about you, after Esposito and Ryan called me. She told me she remembers you," Castle says, talking also to Kate who needs to hear this too. "She said you brought flowers and gave them to her for us. She thought you were sweet."

"I wasn't hitting on her," Parker blushes, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No, I know," he smiles. "But you might not know this - she needed it that day. Restored her faith in humanity. So thank you, Parker."

The kid is beet red now, and he bobs his head. "I wasn't - I just wanted to be there. You guys have done so much for my family just - just _knowing_. Knowing why. My aunt took me in because of all this; I had somewhere to go, somewhere to belong because you showed up that day. I thought... I ought to show up too."

Kate presses a hand over her face, mute. Castle shifts Carter to the couch between them and stands up, signaling the end. Parker casts Kate a bewildered look, glances to Castle crestfallen.

Rick takes the young man by the elbow, draws the boy to his feet. "It's fine," he says very quiely. "It's good. It's very good, coming here. It was the right thing."

"Thank you," Kate says from the couch. She swipes a shaky hand under her eyes. "Your aunt has raised a good man. I hope my son has that in him too." She draws her arm around Carter's wriggling body, presses the sleeve of her sweater into the corner of her eye. "I'd see you to the door, Parker, but-"

"No, don't worry. I understand," Parker says hurriedly. He pats Carter on the head and smiles, makes his way to the door.

Castle follows to usher him out, Chaplin on their heels. He hopes this was good for Kate; he knows it was good for him.

Parker turns just at the entry and lowers his voice. "Is it okay that I came? I didn't mean to - uh - make her cry."

"She needed to hear from you, Parker. We both did, I think. Thank you." He opens the door and Parker steps over the threshold, turns to give him a little wave.

When Parker is gone, Castle returns to his wife; she's crying even as she rubs the tears away. Carter is standing on her thighs and watching her with a puzzled look. At Castle's approach, Carter squawks and points to his mother.

"I know," Rick says, leaning in to kiss his son's concerned face. "Mom's okay. She's better than okay. She just needed her faith in humanity restored a little."

 **x**


	19. December 19

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **19 December 19**

 **x**

"Wow, this place looks amazing," Castle whistles, tilting his head back to take it all in.

"You're not kidding." Kate knows this is the same church Kevin and Jenny were married in, but it's not the same at all. Instead of holy arches and gilt wood, the place looks like a tropical paradise, complete with white hibiscus flowers and a miniature volcano. A banner which says _Surf's Up, Sasha!_ is draped at the stairwell where the bridesmaids and bride once flowed down into the chapel. Surfboards are stacked together like tables in the foyer, burdened with fruit punch and Hawaiian rolls with sliced ham.

"Aunt Kate!"

Kate braces herself for the four year old who comes flying through the crowd, and then she bends down and hugs Sarah Grace around the shoulders. "Wow, honey, you guys did such a great job!"

"I _know_ ," Sarah Grace gushes, tilting her chin up with her arms tight around Kate's waist. Her hair is in loose golden curls, a hibiscus flower over one ear, looking like a miniature Jenny Ryan. "Aunt Kate, it's _so_ cool. We have a surfing video game with a surfboard and we have a volcano and we even have leis for everyone - those are the flower necklaces, they're called leis - and then we have Hawaiian shirts for everyone if you don't have one, Uncle Rick. Do you-"

"I have one, chickpea." Rick bends low with Carter in his arms to show her his outfit. "I guess the baby was blocking your view."

But Sarah Grace immediately ignores Rick for her god-cousin. "Oh, hi, baby Car-car. Hi, baby. I'm so glad you came to our wish party." Sarah Grace coos in Carter's face and pats a pudgy leg. "Nicky is with Mommy, if you want to put the babies together."

"Nicky is two. Not quite a baby." Kate runs her fingers through Sarah Grace's banana curls. "But will you lead the way for us?"

"Sure! Come on!" Sarah Grace takes Kate by the hand, but Castle fortunately interrupts, snagging the girl's shoulder before Kate can be pulled.

"Here," Rick says. "Aunt Kate had surgery, remember?"

"Oh, whoopsie," Sara Grace giggles, putting a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, Aunt Kate. I forgot."

"It's okay. You're just fine." She gestures to the hall. "Did your daddy find the mermaid tails?"

"Oh, yes, they're so pretty. We're all going to be Sasha's court, that's what Mommy calls it, her royal court for the wish."

"Won't that be fun?" Kate nudges, and the girl begins threading her way through the crowded vestibule of the church.

Castle takes Kate's elbow as he adjusts Carter, who is already fussing and rubbing his face in Rick's chest. They may not last long tonight, which Kate is fine with. She's not sure she can survive much past an hour after their busy weekend.

But before they can leave the vestibule, her husband is drawn by the video game set up along one wall. Actually, 'video game' is too small a word for what's happening in that alcove; it looks like Dance Dance Revolution for surfing. Esposito and Ryan have taken over the two game pads on which scaled-down surfboards are mounted. They each have something like a wii remote around their wrists as well, and the two monitors against the wall show rough waves. Arrows pop up on the bottom to tell each player how to tilt or roll, to jump or lean in hard.

Ryan pinwheels his arms and fights through a tube of rolling wave, the crowd holding their breath. Sarah Grace catches sight of her father's not-quite-perfect execution and she cheers for him, giving that piercing whistle her mother has perfected, the one that sounds impossible coming from her lips.

Carter, in response, screeches and kicks his feet, happy to watch the flashing lights. Rick leans in and shouts a snarky comment to Esposito, who gives a ferocious snarl. Castle backs away, chuckling and adjusting Carter against his chest, and then he moves to mess with Kevin.

"No, no, man, don't, I am gonna _beat_ Javi, once and for all."

Kate plucks her husband's sleeve. "Leave him alone. You can come back to it after we find Jenny." She knows just by the look on Rick's face that he's the one who set up the event planner with the cash for this video game rental. "Lead on, Sarah G."

Sarah Grace weaves them through the arching doors and down the main aisle of the nave. Kate remembers vividly walking this aisle with him as his unofficial plus one, feeling so strong in her ridiculously high-heeled shoes and her drop-dead gorgeous dress. It's a different, more intense feeling as they follow their little niece towards the west transept.

They're here to support the Ryans once more, mainly Sarah Grace's Make-a-Wish fundraiser, but this time, Kate doesn't feel the need for the heels or the dress to make him want her, to draw his eyes and have her heart thump in response. Her palms no longer tingle, and her stomach doesn't flip.

But when they reach Jenny Ryan at the table where she's scrubbing Nicholas's chocolate smeared face, Kate knows she has so much more than first love's butterflies.

She has a man who shares her life, who gives her a hand when she falters and, in turn, reaches for her when he does. She has a foundation that survives bullet wounds and bitchy recovery too, a strength that doesn't rely on the clothes or the shoes or if she can keep it together.

"Oh, you _guys_ ," Jenny gasps, rising to her feet. "So glad you made it! Thank you, really. It means so much to Sarah Grace to have you here for this. She's so excited about the money we've raised for Sasha."

"She's swimming with the dolphins, is that right?" Castle grins.

"In Hawaii, of course," Jenny says, flashing a bright smile and gesturing. "And this would not have been possible without you. Kev says the event planner is yours? She's phenomenal."

Jenny's gushing (so much like Sarah Grace's) is interrupted by Nicholas's piercing shriek; she spins and catches sight of him trying to yank a flower off the centerpiece and she rushes for him, scolding.

Kate feels her husband's fingers slide down her arm, thread through her own. "Mm, I should have asked, Kate. But it occurs to me now that you must have given Sarah Grace a donation."

She chuckles and turns to Rick, smooths her hand down Carter's Hawaiian shirt. "I told Kev we'd pay for the airline tickets for Sasha's family, no matter how much money they raised. Why? Did you-"

"I wrote them a check last night," he says, lips twitching.

She figures it out the second before he says it.

"I told Ryan I'd match what they raised."

Kate laughs, catching Carter's little fist as he tries to lean out for her. She kisses her son's cheek and angles him back to his father's chest. "Well, a little girl gets to be a mermaid princess for a night, and then travel to Hawaii with her family to swim with the dolphins."

"It's a good cause," he says gruffly. "Not to mention the money raised might grant a few other wishes. And I - might have been the one who rented the surfing revolution game out there."

"I figured." Even though she's not supposed to, she pushes up on her toes and touches a kiss to her husband's mouth. It feels just as electric as she imagined it would that bright wedding day in this church nave. "Our baby is healthy, we're alive together," she says softly. "We probably owe the universe some wish granting."

 **x**


	20. December 20

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **20 December 20**

 **x**

He sits at the laptop all morning with no luck (at the desk in the office he's constantly distracted by his son, but she _did_ kick him out for two hours before lunch to write in the bedroom like a child put in the corner and even then nothing came). Before he can officially admit defeat (defeat thy name is writer's block), Kate opens the bedroom door with Carter rushing in past her.

"Hey," she says.

He shuts the laptop and bends down to scoop up his son, making the baby giggle and squirm as he runs raspberry kisses down the little pot belly. "Hey," he answers finally. "Come to spring me from writer's jail?"

"Yeah, actually," she says, leaning against the door frame. "Let's get out of here. Go for a walk."

His head lifts but so does Chaplin's, the dog no longer half asleep but struggling now to his feet after his nap in the sun.

Kate winces and holds her fingers out to Chap, scratches under his chin. "Sorry, Charlie, not you."

"Why not? I can handle the leash and Carter both if he's in the sling-"

She turns slightly deceptive eyes to him. "I had an idea, and it's more like a short walk, a subway ride, and then another little walk. Chaplin can't come on the subway."

He sighs and his shoulders droop as he wrestles Carter against his chest. "Well, forget the subway. Just do the walk."

"Did you hear the part where I have an idea?"

"Oh." Kate is... a lot more sentimental than people think. She holds meaning tight to her chest, but she invests that meaning in so many things that he just doesn't see coming. He thought himself a guy for grand gestures and the big deal made over anniversaries, but Kate is a mystery - little things, a word he speaks and forgets again that she takes to heart, a handful of shells she adds to their collection, a shirt she won't let him wash.

"Um," she hesitates at the threshold, glancing back and forth between him and Chaplin. "No. I can't let you, sorry. Castle, you'll just have to come with me."

Castle levers himself off the bed with Carter in his arms. "Well. Color me intrigued."

Her mood lightens at his tone. "I'm sure Carter would be happy to. He's a quick study with paints."

"Oh, hey," he brightens, striding towards her. "Did anyone say if they'd gotten our Christmas cards?"

"Yeah," she grins, that moment's sense of dashed expectations now vanishing completely. "Your mother called when she got the mail this morning. And guess who texted me?"

"Who?"

"Gates."

He gasps. "No."

"Yes." She nudges him for the living room, poor Chaplin following behind, nails on the hardwood. "She's charmed by him. Not you, but him." A grip on his arm. "Hey, I think we'll need coats; the temperature has dropped, babe."

He pauses, realizes he was heading straight for the door with Carter in his arms, Chaplin at his heels. He turns back and finds she has everything laid out on the couch, ready to go. "You really do have an idea, huh?"

She gives him the stern set of her jaw, then leans in for the dog. "Chap, here buddy. Let's get you a treat since you can't come with. Come on."

She leads Chaplin to the kitchen, so Rick does as he's told. He gets their coats on, wrestling Carter into his stay-puff marshmallow man suit, and he waits for his wife.

 **x**

On on the subway, Kate spends her attention on Carter, making faces at him and encouraging his sounds. He doesn't like to use real words for the most part; he seems to enjoy the rhythm and idea of conversation without actually needing to use language. But he's so funny doing it, bobbing his head and opening and closing a fist, pointing and grunting, giving the whole subway car a show.

Smiles turn on, one by one, at Carter's earnest and wide emotion. He stands on Rick's thighs and bounces, laughs heartily at her when she's silly for him. It's the women at first, especially the mothers, the older mothers, who miss the time when theirs were babies. And then it's the younger girls, who are charmed, followed by the teenaged boys in the corner and then the oldest guys, softened by age.

Carter's delight spills out into everyone. The mood lifts despite the full car and the morning pedestrian traffic, the busyness of the line. People open up, talk to each other, even strangers, shift in their seats to give more room, find their kindness once more.

All Kate is trying to do is keep Rick distracted from their end goal. She flicks her eyes to the map of the line over the doors and counts the stops. She's afraid he'll know the second she stands to get off, and he'll balk.

He had another nightmare last night, but this time he woke her. He might not have meant to, but the second his arms slid around her and his face pressed against her shoulder, the sensation of him brought her to awareness.

She didn't look at the clock, but she's pretty sure she stroked her fingers in his hair for hours last night before he fell asleep again.

That's why this is important.

"This is our stop, coming up," she tells him, peering around Carter to catch her husband's eye. He glances up and checks the map, and his brow furrows.

She moves to stand without him, even though the swaying of the car requires more work from her abdominal muscles than she should be doing. Of course, her expending that effort does the trick. He surges to his feet with an arm wrapped around the baby, reaches in to be her support as they jolt into the station.

At the platform, she knows he doesn't have time to think about where it is they're getting off, only that they're getting off. He has to juggle both Carter's active little body and her own need for a bracing arm, and it takes his full attention.

But of course, once they hit the street and the wind comes blasting through the sidewalk crowds, Rick is beginning to frown. "Where are we going on this little walk of yours, Kate?"

"Will you promise to keep walking?"

"No," he says flatly, and she knows that he knows. "What are you doing."

She has to grip a handful of his coat to keep up with him, and he automatically slows to prevent them from being separated in the crush of people. The crowd thins after another few minutes of silence, and then Rick shifts the baby and takes her by the hand.

"We're heading for the loft," she tells him finally. "We have a party to attend."

"A party." He says it like the word is foul and he stops at the corner, not crossing the street. "Kate, I agreed to a Christmas thing with our extended family at the loft _tomorrow_ night. I'm _prepared_ for tomorrow night. This-"

"It's not for the holidays," she says, trying not to bump his shoulder. She's expecting something of a long afternoon even though Lanie promised to keep it moving. "Tomorrow is our Christmas get-together, just like we talked about. Easy, some egg nog and games, Dirty Santa. And the security firm is sending out a team of five for the building."

"Kate," he warns.

"That's not a joke," she answers softly. His forehead is so deeply furrowed. She wishes she could erase those lines. "The security firm really is sending five guys. I hired them."

He sighs heavily, but he doesn't object. "Then what are we doing."

"Breaking the place in a little." She smooths her thumb along his thumb, turns her head to press her lips to his jacket-clad shoulder. "Will you walk with me, Rick?"

His jaw works, and she knows this is something of an ambush, but he needs this. He needs to do this. If anything, she's learned over the years that Rick Castle wants to be talked into it, he wants to be persuaded. He wants someone to love him enough to do the work, just like he's put in his own research when it comes to her.

Carter suddenly shrieks, throwing up both hands, and they startle apart, scanning the sidewalk instinctively for threats. But the baby follows it with a belly laugh after, leaning towards the sidewalk as if he wants down.

"Oh, God, it's just a dog," Rick mutters, hauling Carter back into his chest. Sure enough, a woman has stopped at the corner for the light to turn green, and the leash in her hand is attached to a tiny miniature-sized dog. Rick turns his head to Kate and lifts an eyebrow. "Though I guess I'd be laughing too, if I'd never seen a rat being walked."

Kate shakes her head and reaches across Rick to comb through Carter's hair. "Sit up, sweetheart. You have your own dog at home, and he's less likely to break when you play with him." She slides a look to Rick. "Unless, of course, your poor dog gets wedged behind the playpen again because there's no room in our house-"

"Alright, fine," Castle says roughly, interrupting her pointed remark. He's shifting Carter again so that the baby is between them. But the boy claps his hands and beams at her, as if applauding her efforts.

She smiles and touches a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, sweet boy. You seem to bring the magic with you."

Rick rolls his eyes but the second the light turns green, he's squeezing her hand and leading them across the street.

 **x**

Off the elevator, Rick lowers Carter to the floor and lets him go running down the hall. Kate hangs onto his coat and leans into him for a moment too long, a moment that makes him pause and glance back at her.

"No, I'm okay," she promises. She straightens up, gestures him forward. "You know the way."

He does, but it's really Carter's babbling down the hall that propels him forward. He follows after the baby with a hand in Kate's, in part to keep her with him, but also to be sure she really can keep up.

She pushes her phone into her coat pocket when they approach the door. He casts her a look in askance but she ignores the question and bends over Carter.

"Careful," he tells her, still out of sorts with her for whatever this is. He tugs his keys from his back pocket and reaches for the knob.

But when the door to the loft swings open at his touch, goose bumps race down his body. Before he can react, Carter is breaking free of Kate with a whine and pushing through the opening door.

Rick lurches after him, horror knotting the shout of caution in his throat. He just manages to grab Carter at the entryway, but he's brought up short, gaping.

"Surprise!"

Clumped together in the living room is a tightly-knit circle of their friends, all eyes on them. His mother, Hayley, Jenny and Kevin Ryan with their two, Alexis and Callie, Javier, Lanie. They're standing nervously in front of the couch with stacks of storage tubs around them, clumps of things wrapped in paper and spilling out, even greenery in piles. Those boxes and plastic bins have been everywhere, searching for a home, and now they're back here. (Where they belong?)

Past the storage containers is a riot of balloons and banners and streamers. Castle straightens up, inhaling the too-sweet scent of cake. "What is this?" he croaks. "What's going on?"

Kate's hand comes to his back and she elbows him gently. "Carter is officially eleven months old." She runs her hand down his back. "And I thought it would be a good time for a general Christmas decorating party as well?"

"Are you asking me?" he gets out.

Carter leans hard on his grip and Castle tilts forward, stumbling. Kate tightens her fingers on his elbow, and he has to let Carter go in order not to pull her off her feet. Carter runs for Alexis, laughing and tripping over the edge of a tub. She catches him and hugs him close, squeezing until he squeals.

Rick turns around, clueless as to what he should do now. Kate releases his hand and shrugs, no pressure on her face. "We can have cake and leave, or we can decorate the loft - with help from our friends - and really fill up the space again. Break it in before the party tomorrow."

Carter yowls to be let down and gets back on his feet, trips over the storage tub once more. He scowls fiercely and slaps the plastic lid with a hand, then delights in the thundering noise it makes. He starts drumming on the lid, beaming at everyone.

"Rick?"

He takes a deep breath, surveys the loft. A wide sheet cake with chocolate frosting is on the counter, poinsettias in red frosting at the corners. Party hats made to look like Santa hats are littering the island with a bucket of ice in the sink. Cups are scattered amongst handfuls of Christmas decor he doesn't remember boxing up. A felt banner spells out _Happy Birthday_ and someone has taped up a sign that reads _Almost_ between the two words. He chuckles and feels a hand on him.

His mother pats his shoulder. "She went to no small amount of trouble for you, kiddo. All while recovering from surgery."

"I can see that," he says softly, cutting his eyes to Kate. She's moved into the living room to tease Carter, the baby grunting as he tries to push the storage tub across the floor.

"She said you agreed to a Christmas party here?"

He lets out a long breath. "I guess I have."

Javier is teasing Kevin about the Santa hat with its jingling bell on the end, Hayley is impressing Callie and Alexis with some secret, and his wife-

His wife is combing her fingers through Carter's hair, smiling down at him, speaking gentle and soft words Rick can't hear from here.

But it's the picture he's had in his head for years now, the dream he thought was gone.

He clears his throat and steps out of his mother's touch, heading for the kitchen counter. "Looks like it's going to be a rather long afternoon, guys. Let's cut the cake and dig in; we'll need the fuel for decorating this place. Who brought the Christmas tree?"

 **x**

When all is said and done, the loft is gentle and twinkling in the last of the afternoon light. Rick and Espo wrestled the massive artificial tree into its spot before the windows and Alexis and Callie strung the lights even as they complained about scratchy needles. It holds only a handful of ornaments since everything else is back at the apartment, but the gold-laced ribbon loops the branches and makes it seem full.

Kate slides her arm through her husband's and watches the lights burning while the sun slowly sinks behind the city's skyline. Carter pushes an empty storage tub across the floor, his bottom wriggling, babbling with excitement while his sister follows with her phone, recording him.

Javi and Kev left for the precinct an hour ago at the call for a body drop, with Lanie at their heels. Kate didn't get a chance to thank them, but they'll be at the Christmas party here Thursday, so there's time. Sarah Grace is explaining the plot to her Christmas pageant at school, loudly, to anyone who will listen - namely Martha, poor woman. Jenny is struggling to get Nicholas into his coat, buttoned up, now that the wind has picked up outside.

Hayley is putting away the last of the food in the loft's fridge while Callie is taking a trash bag around the living room and throwing away the remnants of their party.

"Carter seems to love it here," Rick says.

"He has room to race around," she comments, watching the baby laughing as he bumps into the far wall. Carter pushes off the wall with one hand, scooting the storage tub out of its jam, and then he begins pushing it back to them.

"He has the room," Castle sighs. He smiles distractedly at Callie, drops his cup into the open garbage bag. "Thanks. I guess we should get going."

"Hayley is going to lock up for us," Kate adds, nodding. Not pushing. Let him take his time.

He's staring at Carter with that abstract look on his face, distracted by the inner conversation going on, the war. She can understand that, how certainty gets pulled out from under them so regularly, how its all turned upside down.

"It's good to have people in this place," Castle says finally. His hand covers hers at his arm, and he rubs a thumb over her knuckles. "Thanks for this."

She doesn't respond, letting him come to it on his own, let his issues unknot.

"This is how I imagined it," he says softly. His eyes cloud and he shakes his head once. "Let's leave now, before it gets dark. Before it - can be ruined."

Kate sighs, but she squeezes his hand in agreement.

They're working on it.

 **x**


	21. December 21

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **21 December 21**

 **x**

She sleeps on her stomach now. It means her sleep is light, surface, and she wakes the moment the bed dips.

"I finished it," he says, voice rumbling in his chest from above her. Kate cracks open an eyelid and finds her husband perched at her side, practically on top of her in the bed, an electric smile on his face. "I finished the article."

She clears her throat, wipes a hand down her face. "Good, good job," she croaks. Article. Oh. "Did you stay up all night?"

"It's only four in the morning," he whispers, pushing a kiss to her eyelid that makes her reluctant to open them again.

"Only four," she murmurs. "You've been sitting at the desk the whole time?" She shifts and becomes a little more aware, sliding a hand out from under the blankets. "It's cold. Crawl under the covers with me."

He does easily, his toes freezing as they touch her ankle. He lays on his back at her side and she scoots in a little, just enough to touch her shoulder to his.

"Did you email them?"

"I did. Whoever is running the Wounded Warrior blog is up too. They've already posted it."

"Already?" she croaks. "Wow, fast."

"They really liked it. I missed my deadline; they were waiting. But I had a lot of research lying around because of Rook."

"Mm."

Castle suddenly shifts to his shoulder and lays on his side, his hand coming to her back. He kisses her. "I'm going back to Nikki Heat next year."

"You are?" Rook and his early journalism career, the reporter embedded with the troops and his resultant PTSD have buoyed Castle for the last couple years, kept him going, worked out his issues. "Will you write Rook again?"

"Probably not," he admits, sliding his fingers under her shirt. "But this charity drive for Wounded Warrior Project has really... dredged the bottom of things, I guess you could say."

"Dredged," she prompts, blinking past the dryness in her eyes. Did he say it was four in the morning? Are they really having such a vital conversation at four?

"Stirred things up, got things moving again. Think it's been stagnating for a while now, and this was what I needed, this organization, these people. You can't be stuck in your own mire when you're talking to a guy who lost his leg below the knee because of an IED in Afghanistan-"

"Is that Owen?"

"Yeah, Owen. And then Frank with his hand prothesis-"

"They both have service dogs, don't they?"

He half-shrugs. "Yeah, I think. A couple of them do. But I mean - something about finally sitting down and making myself write that blog post about PTSD and combat trauma, even if it's from only my perspective, a civilian ride-along... it's done me some good."

"Not just a ride-along." She tries to say. It's a hum and a nod mostly, her lashes framing the picture he makes, half sprawled in bed, his hand on her back occasionally lifting to gesture at the darkness. Animated again. He's talking about Owen and his positive attitude and how he's being deployed again because he considers it his duty, even deskbound, his honor to be-

"Rick," she interrupts, fighting the crash towards slumber. "Rick, I love you."

He turns and looks at her, words caught, a little like she's yanked on his tether. He smiles and leans in, kisses her other eyelid so that she feels heavy. "Love you back, Beckett. Sleep. You need your sleep. Won't wake you again."

"S'okay," she mumbles. "Wanted to hear."

"Shhh," he hushes, another kiss at her eyelid to keep her under.

 **x**

She reads his article at breakfast, makes him get out of his chair and come closer so she can throw her arms around him. He chuckles and pats her back, telling her she's overplaying it a little, but he has to admit he loves her admiration, her pride in him.

Has to admit he needs it.

He nudges her to nap that morning while he and Carter play with the felted nativity set. She actually falls asleep in their bed, which is a step up from the chair, and he has to wake her for lunch. Carter pitches a screaming fit in his high chair when Kate tells him she can't pick him up, but Castle gets it settled, cloisters himself with the baby in his room until he stops fighting it and takes his own nap.

Kate looks a little worse for wear when he emerges, her body curled on the couch, the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. He sits with her and turns on the television, surfs until they find a James Bond marathon, settles in. He has a hundred things he needs to be doing, but he doesn't feel like doing them, not when she's sad because she can't pick up their baby.

After an hour or so, she changes positions and lays her head in his lap. He drops his hand to her hair and sinks his fingers in the rich, silky feeling of the strands. She falls asleep midway through Timothy Dalton's film, which he has to admit might be a mildly deserved criticism of the man's portrayal of Bond.

He turns off the television and tilts his head back on the couch, Kate a compact ball half in his lap and the baby monitor giving him the soft breathing sounds of their son from the next room.

When he turns his head to the windows, he sees first their Christmas tree and its smudge of red and white lights, and then the city outside. Light has leached from the sky, making it a dead blue, and a haze has formed over the windows. Frost on the glass, muting the world beyond.

He falls asleep like that, his face turned to the world.

 **x**

Rockefeller Center teems with people, a seething throng of visitors, tourists, and natives. The tree dominates the scene with angels blowing trumpets down a straight line of sight to the massive Christmas display. This year the buildings as backdrop are lighted in blue and gold, while the twinkling gold lights on the tree are looped in an ever-tightening gyre to the top.

Ninety-four feet of Norway spruce, like a holiday Godzilla looming over those fleeing below. He read online yesterday that it has fifty thousand lights, give or take a thousand, and despite their LED nature, the power required to light the thing is enormous. The crystal Swarovski star crowns the height of the Rockefeller tree while streams of ribbon and ornaments crowding every last needle make it all seem a little preposterous.

To the adults. To the native New Yorkers, or the Scrooges of the world.

But not to an eleven month old.

In Rick's arms, Carter is open-mouthed with wonder.

Watching his son take in the whole atmosphere, absorbed and overwhelmed by the tree and its dazzling lights, Rick can't help but be convinced once again. Convinced of the magic, the joy. Can't help but believe again.

Kate's face is upturned as well, her cheeks lit blue and gold by the lights. Her breath clouds the air, her scarf cozy around her neck. She finally breaks the spell the tree holds over her and looks at him.

He shifts Carter to his other side and wraps an arm around Kate's waist, bulky through their coats. They're well back from the throngs, the line to skating rink which winds around, but it's all still touching them, affecting them.

Her eyes are slow to adjust, to lose all that light. She leans her head against his shoulder and watches Carter now, the baby's craning neck and rapid eyes as he takes it all in. His sudden and uncharacteristic silence.

They'll walk over to Saks and take Carter through the window displays, do the whole thing. But this moment, this second, their son's faced filled with awe-

Carter lets out a startled breath, as if coming back to himself, and then he begins to clap.

He's laughing too, applauding the tree before them, bobbing up and down in Rick's arms as if some amazing feat has been performed just for him. The world alight just for him.

The amazing thing is, people passing them take up the cheer, the praise, a smattering of applause in this one small corner of Rockefeller Gardens, the joy being passed one to another like lights coming on in the darkness.

 **x**


	22. December 22

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

22 December 22

 **x**

The doorbell buzzes.

He groans. "Oh my God, what have we done?"

Kate slaps his chest with the back of her hand, steps forward to welcome their guests. More guests. More people.

At least it's at the loft. He'll give her that; she was right. Making their way slowly, easing back into it, that was the way to settle things.

It's not like he doesn't already have nightmares. Might as well have them in his familiar bed within his own walls in a much grander space.

She leads the newcomers to the rented buffet table set up along the windows, and Castle does another quick head count by groups.

In one corner are the new mayor and his wife, the former mayor and his wife, Gates and her husband and - for a reason he has yet to comprehend - two of Gates's small grandchildren. Also, a guy from 1 Police Plaza who no one actually knows that well, and Judge Markaway who just had triple bypass and looks it.

As far from that corner as can be are their precinct family: the Ryans (whose children are screaming and laughing over by the tree with Carter, the poor kid getting dragged around much like a pet), Esposito and his new girlfriend (that transit cop, finally, everyone has known she's perfect for him), Lanie and a date whose name Castle never caught, plus LT, the homicide replacements, and Kate's two administrative aides.

His mother and her acting school are here, though they've become secondary hosts for the evening and are circulating all through the party. Alexis and Callie and some unknown number of their friends, who _keep_ arriving, have taken over the kitchen and buffet and wine fridge. Some of the parents (with their screaming monsters) from Carter's play group actually showed up as well, and there are a number of age ranges represented.

Her father came. He's sitting in a place of honor before the Christmas tree with a dog he adopted, Castle assumes from the Humane Society though he has yet to hear that story, and it's odd how skillfully Kate has kept him away from Jim.

He doesn't have time to investigate further. Alexis is dragging him towards the bar for a glass of wine and a conversation with his mother about Carter's first view of the Rockefeller tree, and as he goes, he catches sight of Kate laughing with Jenny. She has a hand pressed to an incision site, but her face is empty of pain.

Castle exaggerates his rendition, playing it up for the people clustered around the bar. The fireplace is on and casting merry light across their faces, sharing the wonder with him as he recounts Carter's dazzled eyes, his gasp of delight, and finally his applause.

He earns laughter at that, a good-natured shoulder bump from his daughter, and his mother's bemoaning the fact she couldn't come. Just as Rick is about to invite her for their next event in the 'Carter's First Christmas Traditions', the doorbell buzzes again.

"One second," he says, handing his glass over. His mother reaches for it and Castle checks his movement. "Ah, perhaps not." He diverts his wine to Alexis and winks at his mother, who scoffs and now has something else to bemoan. Rick chuckles to himself for his sleight of hand and heads for the door.

Kate is there ahead of him, already twisting the door knob, and he catches the edge of the door and opens it so she won't put any unnecessary pressure on her abs.

Standing at the door is Parker Stewart. And his aunt, Jamie Stewart, standing just beyond him.

"Parker?" It has just occurred to him that Parker took his mother's maiden name at some point in his life. The story he told Kate about how that day was pivotal for him - it's completely true. "And Jamie, if I'm not mistaken."

The older woman smiles and shakes his hand. "I hope you don't mind us getting here so late."

"I invited you both for any time you could make it," Kate says easily, drawing Parker over the threshold, taking his coat. She hands it off to Rick and he clutches it a moment, bewildered by his wife's breezy nature. She nudges him towards the hall, handing him Jamie's coat as well. "The others are coming too."

"I know the Cavanaughs are right behind us," Parker offers. Castle just stares at him until Kate shoves him a little harder for the hallway.

He walks back to their former bedroom and lays Parker's and Jamie's coats over the growing pile. He stands for a moment just inside, staring at the walls devoid of all the small touches that made it theirs, but the same furniture, even the same bedding. It's his bedroom and not his bedroom, and it's disconcerting.

When the doorbell buzzes again, Castle jerks around and heads for the front door, hoping to get there before Kate. But she must have been standing right there with Parker, because she's already opened it when he arrives.

"Rick, you remember Russ and Ginger Cavanaugh?" Kate says, gesturing to the older couple standing in their foyer.

"Of course," he says, forcing cheer into his voice. He shakes hands with both, Diane Cavanaugh's parents, and he recalls how Ginger plucked at the arm of her couch while Kate told them about William Bracken. "Good to see you - under different circumstances."

"Thank you for inviting us to this," Russ says, pumping Rick's hand a little too long. "Holidays are always... you surely know. It's good to get out."

Kate smiles warmly, her real smile, and gestures for Castle to take their coats. He does by rote, heading back to the bedroom again.

He knows this means she invited Scott Murray's girlfriend, Stacey. The mother of his child. The baby who was left fatherless when Scott was murdered must now be in college. He wonders if Stacey not quite Murray ever met anyone else that could live up to the ghost of Scott.

He wonders where that baby is now, _who_. He read the report from the initial interviews, before anyone knew the case was related to Kate's mother's murder, and then again after Kate talked to the victims' families. Stacey was inconsolable, even so long after the death of her boyfriend.

But the doorbell doesn't ring again.

Kate casts her eyes in its direction even as she's introducing that Cavanaughs to the mayor and his wife; they seem to already know each other, running in the same circles. Parker has easily slipped into the younger group by the bar where Rick's daughter is, and true to her warm-hearted nature, Alexis is engaging and inclusive. Perhaps, unlike himself, pre-warned.

Parker's aunt, Jamie Stewart, stands somewhat forlorn near the buffet table, a glass of white in one hand and her elbow propped on her hip. Others might see her as aloof, cool, but Rick recognizes the posture as one who finds crowds uncomfortable.

He makes his way to her, hears Kate call out for someone to catch the baby. He glances over his shoulder and sees Hayley wrangling Carter away from the coffee table piled high with their Dirty Santa presents. With that situation covered, and Kate laughing, Rick approaches Jamie.

"Thanks for coming," he says warmly. "It means a lot to Kate, having you all here."

The woman nods, finishing her sip of wine and swallowing. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, gives him a flushed look. "It's an honor, really. I just - he's a great kid. A young man. He needed this."

"This?" Rick gestures towards the party.

Jamie blows her bangs off her forehead. He's beginning to really like her, now that he's seeing the person beneath the grief-stricken sister he met before. "This, yes. Most definitely. But also Captain Beckett. He... uh, he said she looked cheered up after he left."

"That's one way to put it," he chuckles. "We both were. Kate has run at this for a long time, and I came in on things towards the middle. It's been a lifetime for her. And a second lifetime for me, you might say."

Jamie brushes back her bangs. "I don't want to say it at all, but I have to. I need to, for Parker's sake. For Jenn's too, I think." The older woman sets her glass down on the buffet table like she's preparing herself.

He has no idea what comes next, braces himself for anything. For secrets. For prying the lid back off this case even though it is the last thing they need right now.

Jamie folds her hands in front of her pale green skirt. "If he gets annoying. If he starts to drive you crazy. Please tell me. It's better that the rejection comes from me than from the two of you. Whom he idolizes."

Castle is stunned. _Idolizes?_ He invited the kid to their home and now he's...

"Why would he be annoying?" Rick says finally. "He isn't stalking us." Is he?

"No, of course not. Just. Worshipful. In awe. No one has ever stood up for his mother, not even me. I knew Jenn too well to make that stand." She chuckles but it goes flat, her face falling. "Forgive me. A glass of wine and no food and it goes straight to my head."

"There's nothing to forgive," he promises. "Grab food. Here's a plate." He hands her one from the buffet, urges her to get as much as she likes.

Jamie isn't hesitant. She loads her plate with cheeses as he tries to allay her fears.

"Kate needs people to make a stand for. That's who she is, how she's built. She honors..." He doesn't finish it, the stock phrase he usually pulls out to talk about Kate Beckett (or Nikki Heat; it's trite but true) - _she honors the dead._

"She honors the dead through the living," the woman says, waving a hand. She has crackers now too. "I know. I see that. Still. It's very much appreciated, Mr. Castle."

 _Through the living._

She does, doesn't she? Through Carter, through himself, through their family and friends, most obviously. But also the things she's done for Alexis to put his daughter at ease after such trauma, and how she's built strength into her father once more. Even his own mother feels better just knowing it's Kate.

And now Parker, the Cavanaughs. Even Stacey, the girlfriend who won't show tonight, even Stacey has benefitted from Kate in her life.

It's beautiful, what she does. And it's not about the dead any longer. It's about the living.

 **x**


	23. December 23

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **23 December 23**

 **x**

 _It's too early for this_. But she drags a hand out from under the pillow and knocks into the bedside table, samashing the back of her hand into the corner of the nightstand. She grunts in pain and finally finds the baby monitor to turn down Carter's screeching.

Too late now. She's awake.

Kate turns her head carefully and slits one eye, finds Rick asleep, dead asleep, beside her. First time in a long time. It's a good sight, and her heart lifts.

She goes slowly getting out of bed, not just because Carter is fine for a while, but also because she doesn't want to wake Rick. Her muscles protest, stiff from sleep, but she has one of her last physical therapy appointments today and that will help.

Finally standing, which takes some logistics (the edge of the bed, the wingback chair she uses as leverage, the pull-up reps paying off), Kate makes her way towards the bedroom door. She glances back once at the threshold and finds Rick still sprawled on his back, mouth slack, one arm flung wide.

She smiles and shuffles through the living room, rubbing her arms as the chill permeates. The loft never got this drafty; she looks forward to that, uniform heat. Her toes curl on the hardwood, the floor like ice this morning, and when she glances towards the windows, she can see the blue light of fading night glinting on the roof across the street.

Looks like frost this morning. The temperature must have dropped.

She checks the thermostat and nudges the temperature up a little, hoping the heat will kick on, and then she goes to the baby's room.

She pops open the door a crack and peeks in, finds Carter standing in his crib, bouncing on his toes and clinging to the bars, looking towards the window as he babbles.

"Hey, baby," she says softly. "You're up very early."

"Mama!"

"That's me," she laughs, pleased by the naming. Sometimes he just seems to be making sounds, not truly calling for them, but this time is real. "But Mommy can't pick you up, so we're gonna do a little experiment."

The crib converts to a toddler bed, and while she's not supposed to be tugging and pulling, she wonders if maybe it's as easy as the instructions lead them to believe. Some latches, a turn of a dial under the mattress, and it should lower the mattress enough for adventurous Carter to climb down.

"I can catch you if I have to," she tells him quietly, bending low to kiss his sweet face. "Or, worst case scenario, I feed you breakfast in bed, Car. I bet you'd like that as much as Daddy."

Carter squeals and bounces again, hanging on as he gets vertical. Some hang time. Or close to it. Kate slides her hand down one side of the crib, searching for those elusive latches. If it's a slide like the crib railing does going up, she won't be able to do it.

Actually, Carter might be able to climb-

"No," she decides, her fingers finally coming to the first latch. "I think this is, on second thought, a very terrible idea. I'd be teaching you to climb out of your crib, wouldn't I? Hmm. See, sometimes Mommy isn't always as smart as she looks."

"Ma-ma-ma-muh!"

"That's right, you tell me." She gives up the idea and cups his face in her hands, kisses each cheek. "Breakfast in bed it is. Five minutes, sweetheart. Be right back."

She heads out of his room, leaving the door wide so she can hear him from the kitchen, but he doesn't protest. He goes back to his babbling, having conversations with the air or light coming in his window, content with his early morning visitation.

She hopes Rick can sleep.

 **x**

When he wakes up, his vision is filled with glitter.

Castle blinks and then again, but his senses seem muted, his bedroom in a kind of cocoon. Glitter. His neck hurts and the air is filled with glitter.

He closes his eyes and rotates his neck carefully. When he opens his eyes, he's looking past the room to the world outside, a view of the city that glimmers with sparkling dust motes.

He stares, feeling the winter touch his cheeks and nose, feeling the ice in every slow breath.

Outside?

From far off come the sounds of his family, their realness somehow muffled by the ethereal display outside his window. Glitter in the sky.

The sun is a white glare in the east, and the light picks up whatever small, tiny things are fluttering through the air. Twirling, pirouettes, nimble edges of glimmering gold.

Glitter.

It should not be possible but it is.

Castle drags himself upright, hissing at the cold, the chilled taint to the room. He blinks but those glittering gold sparkles remain, dancing just above the city. When he pushes himself out of bed, he stumbles because his eyes are on the glass, and for a moment he sees his own reflection dominating the window before he finds the surreal display once more.

It's raining in full sunlight.

But no. Nothing is wet. The streets are dry, the sidewalks unmarked, the rooftops glisten hard with frost.

It's snowing?

No. That is not snow.

"What is this?"

Rick Castle, the writer, has no word to name the thing happening outside his window, only wonder. _Manna._ He finds himself cataloging details, noting color and light and conditions with an automatic, distanced understanding, trying to write this scene. And when that fails to capture even a moment of its brilliance or beauty, he just stares.

Kate.

But he's afraid not looking will somehow allow it to stop. He can't look away.

"Kate," he calls, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Kate!"

He hears her faintly, as if through a dream, and he turns his head to the door. He winces at the thoughtless inattention but when he looks back quickly to the window, it's still happening. This strange confluence of ice and light.

He'll have to look away, and trust that the universe will reveal itself once more.

He goes running, sliding on socked feet on the wood, slamming a shoulder into the doorframe as he takes it too fast. Kate pauses in the baby's doorway, a bowl cradled in a palm, a bottle in her other hand, staring at him in concern.

"You gotta see-"

"Are you okay?" she says.

"See this," he gets out. "You gotta see this. Where's - you didn't pick him up, did you? Wait, let me get him. You gotta see this."

"What? What do I have to-"

He pushes right past her, snagging the bottle from her fingers only to find it empty, barely registering as he strides for the crib.

And halts.

"No, I didn't pick him up. But. I fed him breakfast," Kate says from behind him. "And... you'll have to clean that out later."

He stares, startles when Carter beams and claps his egg-smeared fingers. "No, it's fine, that's fine. Just come on. Come with me." He reaches in and yanks Carter out of the crib, swinging him onto a hip. He doesn't dare look out the window in here, afraid the light won't be right, afraid he's broken the spell.

"What are you-"

"Come on. Kate, hustle. The bedroom, come back to-"

"He's a sticky mess, Rick. Let me-"

He growls something even _he_ doesn't understand and has to contain the urge to forcibly pick her up and move her. "Come. With. Me. Beckett."

She huffs in response, her cheeks blooming with a flame of pink indignation, but he takes the bowl out of her fingers - it must have been the rice cereal - and he heads for the living room. He drops empty bottle and empty bowl on the side table on his way through and heads for their bedroom.

"If you don't follow me, so help me, Beckett-"

"I'm following you," she snaps, closer than he thought. "You big ass-"

She absolutely loses words the second the bedroom window comes into sight. He feels his relief like a physical blow and he sits down hard on the bed, a damp and sticky baby quickly climbing out of his arms to play and make mischief.

"Oh my God," she whispers.

"I know."

"Oh my... what _is_ that?" It still rains glitter. Tumbles glitter. Sprays glitter. There's no good word to explain the light airy thing going on outside right now.

He shakes his head. "I don't have any idea."

"Is it raining?"

"The street isn't wet. Buildings are dry."

She moves forward as if pulled on a string, touches the glass with the tips of her fingers. "Oh, it's so cold out there. Freezing rain?"

"No, that's rain that freezes on impact. This is..."

"Glittering," she murmurs. She gives a little sound. "I can't believe the first time we build theory again, it's for this."

Rick laughs and stands to move to the window himself, absorbed by the way the sunlight peers over the building across the street and makes the roof-frost a glinting silver but those ice particles somehow gold. "This is good," he says. "It's definitely a worthwhile mystery."

"Maybe it is rain but it's not falling," she says. She touches the window as if she could touch the gold that sparkles and flutters. "It's going sideways. In the wind. I think it's windy between the buildings."

"Snow does that," he answers. "Takes the long way to earth."

"The long way," she sighs. Her eyes don't leave the phenomenon occurring just past the window. "Ice particles?"

"I don't know," he says again.

"This is surreal. It's... glittering outside. The sun is shining just right to catch every particle and refract a hundred tiny points of light."

"Gold. Ice crystals?"

"Did you google this?"

"No. I can't take my eyes off it. See how it seems to appear out of thin air? Like the air is _making_ these little glittering ice things. Fractals."

"The Koch curve."

He jerks his head to her, blinks, remembers himself, where he is. He left their rambunctious, crawling, climbing baby alone on their bed. "Did you just say the Koch curve? As in, one of the first fractal curves to be described."

"Where's Carter?"

"Right here," he promises, a second before he really does spot the boy and haul him out from under the covers. "Come look at this, Carter. It's so pretty."

Carter hums and babbles but he doesn't throw a fit at being taken from the bed. Castle comes back to the window and his wife, glances at her despite the way the golden glimmering display outside nudges for his attention.

He bumps her shoulder. "Someone once told me. You just kinda made nerdy sexy."

She laughs, her eyes finding his for a moment. She gives a little wriggle of her shoulders in delight, the girlish and cute side to Kate Beckett that never ceases to surprise him. She leans in against him and he opens an arm to hug her, letting her half take Carter's weight.

She kisses the baby's squirming face. "Do you see it, Carter? It's so strange and pretty. We don't know what it is out there."

For a second, it's almost as if Carter's eyes follow the fluttering dance of light.

And then he squirms and whines to be let down. Castle shakes his head. "No. Let's get dressed. We'll take Chaplin outside."

The dog comes bounding into the bedroom from out of nowhere, issuing a sharp bark in excitement. Carter laughs and kicks his feet, leaning out for Charlie.

"That settles it. We're going out there," Castle says. "No point watching from afar when we could walk in the midst of a miracle."

 **x**

It falls on her face like butterfly kisses, cool, barely there. She tilts her head back and catches only glimpses of the same glittering gold they could see from the window. Here, down on the ground, the angle isn't right, the light is wrong.

"It's not the same," he sighs. Castle wraps the leash around his hand, looking back and forth on the street for more. But there isn't more.

She holds Carter's hand; for once, the baby isn't leaning away from her. She blinks and feels the faint touches of ice at her cheeks, her forehead. It's so cold outside, below freezing, that her lashes catch an ice fractal and her vision blurs.

"Let's go back inside," she says, wiping at the melt with a gloved hand. Carter hears _inside_ and begins tugging on her. She braces herself but Castle is already bending down to pick him up. "You good with going back-"

"Yeah." He glances up again. "You can't see it from down here."

"No." She can barely see the ice, though she can feel it. "All the magic is up there."

He chuckles, lifts an eyebrow. "Not subtle, Kate."

She shrugs. "Still true."

They head inside together, Chaplin nosing at trash, Kate's hand at Carter's back where he has huddled in against Castle to cut the wind. His cheeks are bright pink from the scant ten minutes they spent outside, his nose running. She uses a handkerchief from Rick's pocket to wipe the baby's nose until he whines and turns his head away.

Back inside their own apartment, Rick sets the baby down on the floor, unleashes Chaplin. The dog licks Carter's face and circles around him, while Castle throws away the doggie bag in the kitchen trash.

She sinks down to the floor, unbuttoning the baby's coat.

"I think I'll make hot chocolate," he says. "Think Carter might like it."

"Sounds perfect. Warm us up."

And then maybe they'll camp out in front of the window, watch the glittering air for as long as it will let them.

 **x**


	24. December 24

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **24 December 24**

 **x**

She wakes suddenly, clinging to the edge of the bed, frightened for no real reason. And then she orients to the room, the sounds he's making in the dark, and she finds her husband lying half on top of her back, shielding her in a dream of his.

She can't elbow him off. "Rick!"

He shouts as he wakes, the most violent she's ever seen him in nightmares. His knee digs into the mattress and he heaves himself off her, falls to his back, breathing hard.

"What was that?" she says, her heart pounding on his behalf. She turns her head on the pillow to look at him, the sweat sheening his forehead, his neck. "What-"

"Christmas Eve," he mutters.

That makes no sense.

She's nearly four weeks out from surgery and she's just fine to scoot into him, draw her arm around the bellows of his chest, and press her cold nose to his neck. He grunts and clasps her arm with his. She wonders if it's her own heart thudding or his that shakes the mattress like this.

Well, Christmas Eve it is. So-

"Chaplin," she calls. Barely has to raise her voice and the dog is bounding up onto the bed. "Lie down, Chap."

The dog circles and then settles along Castle's legs on top of the blankets, putting his muzzle on Castle's knee. She curls down and scratches the dog's ears, then tugs on his harness.

"What are you doing," Castle mutters.

"Christmas Eve." She pulls until Chaplin is situated by Castle's hip, and the dog settles in again, this time resting his head on Rick's arm. She can see him flip his hand to stroke the dog, and she lies down her self at his other side.

Good dog. Just like they've been practicing.

Rick's free arm curls at her neck and he buries his hand in her hair. He pets her like he does the dog, and she doesn't mind, not here and now.

Castle's heart rate begins to slow. His breathing draws evenly. She pushes her cold nose into his shoulder and pulls up her side of the covers, keeping in the warmth around her, leaving him to cool down.

She falls asleep before she can be certain it's worked.

 **x**

They're preparing Christmas Eve dinner side by side this time. "Last year," he says, a rumble in his chest he can't clear, "you were pregnant, and you and my mother sat at the table and made those stuffing balls."

"Stuffing _rolls_ ," she corrects, failing to hide her smile. "They weren't as good as I'd hoped."

His amusement is real, if a little off-center today. "They were good. You just had pregnancy taste buds. You said everything was bland."

"It was."

"I had to hide the salt and pepper. _And_ the ginger. You do know that Christmas ham is _not_ supposed to have ginger."

She huffs and bumps his hip, knocking him away from the oven so she can open it and slide the tray inside. He watches long enough to be sure she's not tugging on muscle that isn't quite healed, but she seems fine.

She shuts the oven door and fixes the timer, leans back against the counter with the dish towel in her hands, wiping at her fingers.

He goes back to peeling potatoes.

"Are we doing our Christmas gifts after family dinner?"

"Or?" he says, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"I call now."

He quirks an eyebrow at her, sets the peeler down. His hands are wet from washing potatoes, and the skin around his knuckles is so dry it keeps breaking. Bleeding. He's had to rinse off the potatoes.

She crosses her arms over her chest. "Best to do it now. Don't you think. While Carter's asleep and it's just us. Come on."

"You seem excited." He takes the towel from where she has it tucked under an arm, and he dries his hands, the potatoes unfinished. "You don't want to do it all together?"

"You're the one who says presents have to be opened Christmas Eve. I'd rather do it on Christmas Day, but you-"

"Fine, sure." He tosses the towel to the counter, inspects his cracked knuckles. "We can do it now. After I finish peeling. The water is about to boil."

She studies him for a moment. "Alright." She steps in and slides her arms around him. It feels good, and maybe a little surprising, having her pressed against him spontaneously. "Let me help."

"I've got it," he says.

"Your hands are all cracked," she answers, releasing him, sliding in front of him. Now she's between him and the sink. "It'll take me less than a minute. I've got this."

If she really wants to, he won't put up that much resistance. "Less than a minute?" he teases, turning to put his body directly behind hers. Her rapid-fire jerks of the peeler come to a stumbling halt; she shivers.

He kisses her neck. Draws her back into him. She lets out a breath and her hands drop to the sink. Peeler and potato and that wonderful sound she makes when she's trying not to make any sounds at all.

He runs a thumb under her loose shirt, finds warm skin. She shivers harder, goose bumps raising at his exploration.

"What..."

He touches his lips to her ear, nips. "Is that a bet?"

"Is what a bet?" she breathes, her head turning into his mouth. She kisses him - slow, deep kisses that feel drugged. It's been too long, though he should be used to waiting. The feel of her in his arms is everything.

He rubs his fingers along the thin scar at her lower abs, below her belly button. It makes her skin flinch and quiver, and one of the potatoes falls out of her hand.

She grips the back of his neck, cool wet fingers, and she contorts in his arms in a way she never could have done four weeks ago. Hasn't been able to do without pain since Carter's birth.

It feels like a miracle.

"I win," he murmurs, and bites her bottom lip. She groans, head tilting back, her eyes dark desire. He grins. "It's been over a minute."

She blinks. Comes to, as it were. And then she shoves on him. "Because you _seduced_ me. Doesn't count. Go make sure the water isn't boiling over."

He laughs, but he goes.

 **x**

The gift he got her is small and nestled in his palm, wrapped in gold-striped paper with a bow. He wrapped it himself, which he's pleased with because it looks it - and she'll know, she'll see that he did it himself and he didn't pay someone to do it for him.

That's important to her. So it's important to him.

He waits for her on the couch; she's mysterious in the bedroom and wouldn't let him come in. Since he hid her gift on the top shelf of the pantry where she can't reach due to the surgery, it was easy to grab the little box and be ready.

"How long is it gonna take?" he yells at her.

"Hush," she calls back. "The baby is asleep."

He doubts Carter is really asleep for his afternoon nap. The boy likes to play in his crib with his toy cars, running them all over the city-block bedsheets.

But he sits patiently instead of calling out to her again.

Soon he hears the door click open and then Chaplin's toenails clicking on the hardwood. Rick turns on the couch and finds her leading the way, with the dog behind her, following obediently.

She has a diploma in her hands, something framed anyway. But his eyes stray to Chaplin, whose harness now has a bright blue sign attached to the side.

"What is this?" he murmurs, his body suddenly going numb. The cloth tag reads _service animal._

Kate sits down close beside him, lays the frame in his lap. It's not a diploma exactly, but a degree from obedience training. With an envelope taped to the glass. With a click of her fingers, Chaplin comes to heel before him, sitting patiently.

Rick sets aside the wrapped box for her, and he touches the envelope, pulls it off the glass to unfold the flap. He pulls out a card with Kate's love neatly printed inside, but he's distracted by the official looking document.

"It's a license?"

"A dog license," she says softly, explaining what he's reading under the glass. "It means... Chaplin passed advanced obedience training."

"How..." He stares up at Kate, her face a mask of apprehension, and things begin to click. "Your dad adopted a dog."

She bites her lip, but her smile curls up at one side. "Yeah. He helped me get Chap to his lessons. And... he fell in love with one of their rescues."

A laugh garbles somewhere in his throat, but he's back to reading the card she attached, his mind racing.

She lets out a breath and touches his knee. "Well, he passed, so I pulled some strings and got him registered with the city. With this, he can go on the subway. Restaurants. The plane."

He stares at the paper.

"He's technically filed under emotional support animal, but the license is for a service animal, one who's trained to do certain tasks for you - like the Wounded Warrior dogs. To do that, I sponsored one in your name-"

"What?" He whips his head around to her, finds her smiling so tenderly.

Her hand comes to the back of his neck, strokes the hair at his nape. "Owen's friend, Frank? His service dog is on the way; he's in training right now for it. I think they said a golden retriever, her name is Lucy."

"Lucy." He turns and stares at Chaplin, who is sitting perfectly still, patiently, at his feet with his harness on. "How did you..."

"Technically, it's not necessary in the city of New York for Chaplin to wear the tag on his harness, but it does stop people from giving you looks. Establishments aren't allowed to ask you why, or what you need him for. They can't even ask for proof."

"Of a disability," he fills in, swallowing around the strange sensation in his throat.

She leans in and kisses him softly. "It's not a disability. It's a chance to take our cool dog wherever we go. Using the law to help us out for once."

"He goes where we go," he echoes. "I still can't... this is _so_ cool."

She sits up, her hand on his arm. "Yeah? I wanted to give it to you alone, just us, in case you were - if it bothered you. Having Chaplin be labeled an emotional support animal."

"He _is_ an emotional support animal," he answers gruffly, shaking his head. "You figured that out before I did." Castle leans down and slowly pets Chaplin's head. "You called him into bed last night when I had that nightmare."

"We've been working on that especially," she says softly. "Are you.. don't be ashamed of getting help."

"No." He presses his fingers into his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I saw what those dogs did for the vets at Wounded Warrior. How can I be ashamed of that?"

"Oh, good," she sighs, kissing his cheek, pressing harder to his lips. "I'm glad you think so. Oh, Rick. That's good. I-" She cups his cheeks like she does Carter, and she must realize that too because she drops her hands, shakes her head. "Chaplin, up. Come on."

The dog comes to all fours and then immediately jumps onto the couch with them, the big body knocking into things. Castle adjusts, puts the obedience training certificate to one side, the card on top of it. Chaplin settles his head in Castle's lap, the dog pressing close.

"Good dog," he murmurs, patting Chaplin's side, rubbing his ears. "You have been practicing." He can admit that the very act of petting the dog is soothing to him, even here in a safe space.

Kate leans in close to him, pointedly.

"Oh, yes. And this is for you, Kate." He hands over the box, suddenly realizing just how small it is.

She takes it from his fingers before he can take it back, and she gives him an already too big smile.

This might be stupid. After the gift she gave him, the work involved in obedience school (sneaking Chaplin out to her dad), Castle's gift in return feels somewhat insignificant. Just because it's a big step for him, doesn't mean-

"Mm, I love the paper." She slides her thumb under the wrapping, her head bent over the thin box. He hopes she isn't thinking jewelry, because she's going to be disappointed. He-

She puts the wrapping paper to one side, gives him a quick smirk of her lips. She knows he did it himself. She pries the lid off the little box and withdraws the key.

"To the loft?" she murmurs, her eyes lifting to his, hope dawning in her voice.

"To the loft," he admits. "I scheduled movers before the new year. They'll do all the packing and taking everything over while we're in the Hamptons. So we'll come home to the loft, celebrate the new year there."

She comes up on her knees on the couch and flings her arms around him. "Castle. Oh my God. Really? Promise me you're okay to-"

"I promise, it's fine. Hey, stop. You made Chaplin into my support dog, so I'm gonna be just fine."

"Oh God," she laughs in his ear, still squeezing him tightly. "What a - no, but really. Rick. You won't even talk about the nightmare you had last night-"

"This morning."

"This morning? How long did you lie awake?"

"Only an hour." He palms the back of her head, kisses her neck. "I had Chaplin, I had you. I was fine, it was just fine. I might just be - out of place here, Kate. Maybe going home will be the thing to set it all to right again."

She sits back on her feet, gives Chaplin a loving look, much like the ones she bestows on Carter. Her hand is gripping the key tightly. "Thank you. I know what I'm asking of you. I understand-"

"Hush. Merry Christmas Eve, Kate." He takes her fisted hand and kisses her knuckles to shut her up. It's not supposed to be about damage; it's supposed to be about joy. "I can't control bad dreams. But they won't stop me from giving us what we deserve." He tugs her hand against his chest, lets her feel the strong, calm beat of his heart. "We can do this."

She nods, tears slipping down her cheeks. "It'll just take work. And some waiting. I think we know how to do that." Her smile is tremulous but so beautiful. "Merry Christmas Eve, Rick."

 **x**


	25. December 25

**Spirits**

* * *

 **x**

 **25 December 25**

 **x**

Obviously, the baby is the center of attention this morning.

As it should be, since Carter has the most pure expressions and the least amount to forgive. But Rick has noticed other things he was unable to help or fix last year, the year before, things that he once used to take care of and shepherd but now no longer need his constant vigilance.

His daughter, his mother, even his wife. It all works, not without him, but around him, with him.

Two years ago, all of that had collapsed with their shooting. Christmas was jagged, a held breath in between pain. He missed whole hours, fell asleep at the controls, wallowed in problems and picked at wounds old and fresh alike. But the Christmas after, the holiday was ripe - their family expecting the season's promise, a son, new life, the chance to begin again.

This Christmas, well, 'tis the season. The fulfillment of their love, embodiment of their thriving, runs from person to person in their extended family, beaming and cheerful and spreading laughter with his antics.

The things that slipped through the cracks, the traditions they all might have let lapse, the _joy_ they all perhaps forgot - these things have grown like weeds in the sunny face of this smiling and excited baby boy.

In the morning, they dress for rain, Kate entertaining the oblivious but squirming Carter while Castle wrestles him into clothes and coat and hat. Chaplin is a mess of excitement and even more happy to be going. They bundle up presents to keep them dry, and Rick drives them himself, Kate fiddling with the radio station until carols fill the car. The traffic is impossible but the timing isn't important; everyone will wait. They only want to be together, home.

Jim hasn't arrived when they open the door to the loft, but Rick's mother stayed overnight and has the place warm and bustling, all by herself. Alexis and Callie are next to arrive, and they play with the baby while the rest of them set up presents and stockings ( _where they belong_ , Kate says, and it's not even too much, he thinks, and he cups her chin and kisses her for that encouragement).

Breakfast: leftover casserole and sausage, miniature pancakes that Callie makes. Jim comes an hour later with orange juice and fresh-ground coffee from their special place close to the precinct, (Kate did that, he thinks, and if he's looking at her with adoring eyes, it's all her own fault). She wrinkles her nose at him and starts boiling water for the French press, swats him when he crowds close at her back to thank her again.

Jim turns on the gas fireplace and rubs his hands together, cold with rain, and Alexis carries Carter to him, the two of them making the baby giggle helplessly.

They eat standing up at the counter, feeding Carter (and Chaplin) pieces of egg or bites of pancake as they talk. Christmas music plays from the surround sound speakers, something mostly orchestral, and they take the time to care for one another, asking after events, health, concerns, opportunities. Callie talks about the research team and New Zealand, and Kate starts planning an extended vacation for February when it's warm there, and Rick knows she's trying to soothe him.

He's soothed. Or rather, no soothing is needed. Alexis is protesting that she might not move at all, they haven't decided, and Callie doesn't even seem to think she'll get the job. But mostly, Rick no longer feels the urgency of having his daughter close. It's not that he doesn't love her, enjoy the special world they built between them, but that world has expanded.

It includes all of this - and more. It's the more that Rick loves to see unfold.

 **x**

Alexis presents Carter his stocking from Santa Claus, and the baby makes faces that have everyone laughing. So of course, just like a Castle, Carter hams it up, his eyes growing rounder, his body startling harder, making the most of the attention. It's not like Kate isn't encouraging it either; she has her phone in her hand to record every last second of his first Christmas and he beams ever brighter just for her.

Chaplin, true to his obedience training, stays at Jim's side with his head on his front paws, watching everything. He only lifts his head and comes to his feet when Carter struggles with the wrapping paper, and then Kate has a hilarious video of the dog helping to unwrap one of Carter's new toys while the baby holds on.

Kate stays on her knees on the floor while Alexis teases out the next present from the stocking. Teething rings and building blocks and rubber animals. Four cars. A truck that Carter won't let go of. A baby turtle that he mashes his cheek against and garners a roomful of _awwws._

Castle leans in over her shoulder to look at the photo and chuckles, his hand warm on her back. He doesn't say _let's have another one_ but she can feel it in his touch, his regard for Carter and his creased eyes on her. She doesn't say _right now, right this second_ because she still has months of healing ahead of her and even then the muscles might tear with a pregnancy but it's fine because they'll do a c-section, lots of women have c-section babies; she wants this again and okay maybe again.

Rick takes the phone from her and nudges her into the circle on the floor, and she scoots forward until Carter sees her.

"Mama!" Both arms thrown up to her, face lighting with the same exact wonder he had for the Christmas tree. (So it looks to her; she doesn't care what it looks like to everyone else, she's his mama.)

She reaches out and takes him, even though she maybe shouldn't, and she kisses that face so in love with her, cuddles her baby close to her chest. "Are you having so much fun with Santa's presents? Because we're having fun watching you. We really are."

Martha says something that Kate doesn't catch, but when she lifts her head, she sees the looks on everyone's faces, like they're tender towards her as well, like they never expected to see this in her. Or for her to have this.

Well. She didn't either. "Shut up, Dad."

Her father laughs hard and waves her off, but he has the digital camera, so she'll have to make nice later to get copies of those pictures. Callie keeps trying to take over for him, _you should get in there,_ but of course Jim won't. He never did in their family photos either; he was the one who took them, and she and her mother were the ones in them. He always said he never wanted to see himself, he wanted to see them, their joy.

"Rick," she says, gesturing to him. She settles Carter on the floor. "I want you in this one."

Her husband doesn't have the same disregard for the spotlight that Jim does, of course, and he comes right to her side, slides his arm around her waist. Chaplin is called and he heels, right behind the baby, his chin up with a kind of territorial pride. They pose before the tree with Carter making his surprised faces, and a few cameras get a variety of angles, enough for Kate to feel it makes a difference.

It all makes a difference. Her family won't be her parents', won't be the broken thing it was when her mother died. It also won't be the small thing it was for Rick and Alexis, and before that, the cramped conditions of his and Martha's.

They've made it different, made it anew.

Carter laughs, and the whole room smiles with him.

 **x**

"It kind of looks like melting snow," Alexis offers, staring out at the darkening sky.

"We don't need snow to have a white Christmas," he tells his daughter, kissing her forehead. "Magic and wonder are what makes it white. Purity of love. This-"

"Okay, Dad," she groans, and he can hear her rolling her eyes.

But when he gives her a hug, she nestles into his arms. He speaks into the top of her head, "Did you have a good one?"

"Yeah," she says quietly. "Dad, you always make Christmas wonderful."

"Thank you, pumpkin. You know you're an integral part of that." He squeezes her shoulders and she steps back, smiling. But other arms come around him from behind, and he touches the back of his wife's hand, turns his head to see her over his shoulder. "Hey there. Also integral, in case you were wondering."

"Wondering what? Hey, are you ready? We're just divvying up the spoils of war."

"Spoils?" He glances past her. "Oh, I see, the food. I guess I should get in there. Stake my claim."

"I already told your mother we want the ham thing. But she's asking about the banana bread."

"Oh, yeah, definitely," he says, detaching from her to head for the kitchen. "Mother. Don't give away my banana bread."

His mother waves a hand. "Then come and help, darling. Stop staring moodily out at the rain."

"No, that was me," Alexis confesses, coming into the kitchen to join Callie. "I was hoping it would snow."

"No snow," Kate says, stepping up beside him. Her hip bumps his. "Maybe freezing rain later, which is why we need to get going. Oh, Martha, I want banana bread too, so-"

"I expected as much," Martha says. "This whole loaf is yours. Alexis, darling, I have another in the freezer at home for you."

"Ha, all mine," Rick teases his daughter.

"Well, but you have to share with Kate. I don't have to share at all."

"What about Callie?" Kate laughs, opening a storage container to begin ladling in leftovers. "Callie, don't let her-"

"Oh, I don't like it. Sorry, Gram. It's all Alexis." She's putting the lid on casserole and putting it into a bag. "Speaking of - who's taking the brownies?"

"Me," Kate claims. Hesitates. "Or, we can split them?"

"Split sounds good," Alexis says easily. The smile is warm as well, and the rest of their leftovers, the cakes and cookies, the breakfast casserole and venison sausage, the pumpkin pancakes and the pumpkin roll, the candied fruit and the yule log from Callie's family, even the ham and the potatoes are all parceled out. Castle manages to convince Jim to take at least a week's worth of meals, and he feels no small triumph for that.

It helps that Kate looks so pleased at him for his success. She slides her hand into the back pocket of his jeans and kisses the side of his neck, her smile warm and humming.

Bundles collected, presents put away into bags and slung onto shoulders, their gifts from Santa rounded up. Carter gave his mama a day at the spa, and funnily enough, Carter also gave his daddy the same gift (apparently he and Kate both feel they need a break). Alexis is claiming rights for next year, that she'll take the baby shopping for better presents, but Kate shares a look with him that he feels himself - a day of pampering sounds like bliss after their hectic season.

The fact that Chaplin comes when called and stays patiently still while Kate leashes him, and then doesn't tug or strain out of her hands - it's another piece that slots perfectly into place, fitting as it has always meant to, one less thing to worry about.

Rick wrestles Carter back into his coat and warm hat, and then he carries the baby while they all troop out into the hall. The laughter and teasing don't cease even while they're locking up the loft and checking bags to be sure they have everything. Jim has already pushed the call button for the elevator, and Callie is pushing the luggage cart down the hall towards him, everything else piled on it.

Martha keeps Carter entertained so that Rick can hoist the bag over his shoulder once more, and Kate takes the keys from him, which are her set anyway, and she takes another bag from him so that he has his hands free for managing Carter.

"You got all that?" he says, shifting Carter higher in his grip, putting a hand to Kate's back. Chaplin walks sedately at their side.

"I got it," she answers, not even a promise this time, simply a response, automatic, to their adjustment. And then she laughs and lifts surprised eyebrows to him, her lips curving. "Hey. I really do. Wow, look at that."

He grins and ducks to kiss her smile. "Look at that."

"I'd say Christmas miracle, but a lot of work went into getting to this point," she laughs.

"No, let us not discount the whole month's effort, never." He slides an arm under her coat and creeps his hand in under her sweater to find warm skin. She shivers and casts him a baleful look, but Martha has gone on ahead of them and Castle takes his moment. "More than a month, Kate, more than a season. We've had nearly a decade of effort to get here."

"It was so worth it."

He laughs, because he didn't need her reassurance, but it's still a beautiful thing to have.

She takes his hand from beneath her sweater and draws him out of her coat, squeezing. She tugs him onto the elevator even as Carter leans out for Alexis, babbling his love and attention. He gives over the baby and takes the leash from Kate, and everyone settles.

The elevator doors close, but he knows they'll reopen soon enough, and for good next time.

 **x**

 **May joy find you ready and able, and peace be in your new year - wherever that takes us, however the world spins on.**

 **Thank you forever, for always.**


End file.
